Nineteen Canvasses
by Cars1
Summary: Bella thinks she finally has it all together after a life altering accident, but when she meets Edward, a once successful artist who has lost his inspiration, everything she thought she knew changes. All Human. Rated M for a very good reason.
1. Chapter 1

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Thank you. February 2010.

_**Many thanks to my wonderfully talented beta, xrxdanixrx.**_

----------------

Chapter 1

As the pulse of yet another dreaded techno-charged dance mix fills the bar, I'm left to watch from the sidelines… again.

The scene has become normal now. After five years of enduring it, I'm resigned that it will always be this way.

Not that I'm complaining. I'm thankful for them in my life. God knows, I would not have survived this long without them. But I'd like to be able to dance again. It's not as if I can't do it, I just can't bring myself to.

I used to love it. I used to love to do a lot of things before it happened.

Now, I don't want to do anything but run.

The fact that they've dragged me out to this dreadful bar, yet again, is excruciating. But I'd rather endure two hours of this than have to listen to Emmett for days.

I shake my head as he waves to me from the middle of the dance floor. I watch as he and Rose engage in some sort of erotic foreplay bump and grind.

Alice and Jasper dance close to them in complete contrast. It's all tender kisses and soft touches designed to slowly work each other into a frenzy before they announce their departure for the night.

I nurse my vodka cranberry and count the seconds before I can make a break for it.

Alice and Jasper arrive back to the table first.

"Hey, we're going to get going. Can you get home ok?" Jasper asks, never taking his eyes off Alice.

Of course I can. I'll be fine. Go and enjoy. No details tomorrow though."

Alice laughs at me and bends down to give me a kiss on the cheek. "Lunch tomorrow?"

"Yep, Rose and I will be there like always." She smiles before leading Jazz towards the exit.

I watch them leave, his hand never leaves her back and I smile at how close they are.

Emmett and Rose return after the song finally ends. He plunks down on the red velvet booth beside me and wraps his arm around my shoulder.

"When are we going to see you out on the dance floor again, B?" he asks taking a mouthful of his beer.

"Not in this lifetime, Em."

"Aw, come on. You used to love to dance." He gives me the look. The one I'm so used to seeing from him and pretty much everyone else now.

"He's right. You had some wicked moves." Rose smiles at me and takes a long sip of her martini.

"Thanks, but you both know it's not happening, so you should just stop trying."

She narrows her eyes at me, and I know that look. It's the patented I-never-back- down-from-a-challenge look that I grew up knowing and fearing. Rose and I have been best friends since grade eight when she came to my rescue one day at lunch when the over zealous Jonathon Tompkins decided he wanted to feel me up. She pinned him to the ground in some sort of slow motion ninja move and we've been inseparable ever since.

Alice moved in across the street from Rose in suburbia Vancouver that summer and literally bounced into our lives. I've never met anyone with as much energy and lust for life as Alice. She's able to take the most mundane of days and turn it into something you'll never forget.

I'd be lying if I said that being best friends with the goddess that is Rosalie Hale didn't do damage to our egos during the sheer hell that is high school. There's nothing like hearing- "Can you introduce me to Rose," -mere minutes after loosing your virginity to somebody you thought was different.

Rose tends to attract the attention of every red blooded male within a five mile radius. Alice and I, garnered attention simply by being in her general vicinity. The string of guys she went through is staggering. Most of them only lasting a few days if they were lucky.

After high school, we went to UBC together where Rose met Emmett at some dreaded keg party where she drank him under the table in a beer chugging contest. Needless to say, the string of guys came to a screeching halt after that.

Then there was the ill fated heli-ski trip to Revelstoke that Emmett insisted we go on that changed my life in immeasurable ways. Growing up in Vancouver, I was a good skier. Actually, I was better than good if I'm being honest. I was on the UBC ski team and actually won a few races. I loved to ski...well until it happened.

The trip wasn't a complete disaster, Alice did meet Jazz. She says there was a beam of light shining down on him when he walked into the chalet we had rented. The world stopped spinning and all that shit

Emmett removes his arm from my shoulder and stands up abruptly. "Dude, over here!" He waves his arms, motioning to the table and I glare back at Rose.

She shrugs her shoulders and tries to look innocent, failing miserably.

I shake my head and twirl my left over ice cubes around in the glass. I cannot believe he's done this again.

How many times do we have to go through this pathetic routine?

Every few weeks, we 'just happen' to run into some guy he knows, and I 'just happen' to be with him. Then he disappears, faking some call that needs his utmost attention, and leaves me with whatever poor soul he's decided to inflict upon me.

Inevitably, the guy lasts less than an hour before he runs for the hills.

I'm so not in the mood for this tonight.

He glances down at me and offers me his dimple filled smile. I'm fairly certain I actually growl at him before the guy gets to the table.

"Edward, man! I was beginning to think you weren't gonna show," Emmett says loudly.

"Sorry, the traffic is brutal," he says, letting out a stressed sigh.

I look up from my very empty drink at lucky bachelor number thirty-seven and immediately stop breathing.

Oh he is fine. Very, very fine.

He's got a distinct five o'clock shadow gracing his angular jaw. His hair is a complete and total mess, but somehow, he makes that work for him. And his eyes, they're this deeply intense shade of green. Actually, everything about this guy is intense.

How has Emmett not introduced me to this one before? At least given me something to look at for an hour before I'm inevitably left disappointed and unsatisfied?

"Edward, you know Rose already. This is Bella." He motions to me as if I'm some prize from a game show. I smile weakly back at him.

His lips curve into a small devilish smile and he nods his head towards me. "Nice to meet you Bella, finally."

"You, too," I mutter.

_Finally? How long has Emmett been talking about me?_

"Rose, let's dance." Emmett bolts from the table, grabbing her hand as they head to the dance floor.

I chuckle and shake my head as he sits down in front of me.

"Let's just get this over with, ok? I'll make it easy on you. You pretend to ask me questions; I'll look like I'm vaguely interested. I'll give Em the signal, and then we can both just go," I say, looking up at him from my drink and cocking my head to the side.

His eyes widen. "Is that what you really want to do?" he asks sincerely.

"It'll make this go a fuck of a lot faster." I stare into my glass.

"So, he does this a lot then?" he asks cynically.

"More than you can imagine," I answer flatly.

"And these little meetings you have, they always end the same way?"

"Always," I answer solidly and glare back at him.

"What if this time, it's different?"

"It won't be." I issue him the warning stare and he doesn't flinch. Not even one bit. I, however, do and resume watching the ice melt in my drink.

"How can you be so sure?" he asks, his voice turning cocky.

"Experience."

"You've never experienced me before." I look up at him and he's smirking at me, one eyebrow raised and looking incredibly hot. "Tell me something about yourself. Something nobody else knows."

I stare back at him, a little shocked by his request, but I feel absolutely compelled to answer. "I cry myself to sleep every single night."

His expression turns dark and I look away from him.

_Where the hell did that come from?_

"Why?" he asks, his eyes intently focus on me.

"I'm lonely."

"Why?" His voice is barely audible over the blasting beat that provides the backdrop for this insanely uncomfortable conversation.

"I never let anyone in." I look up and meet his eyes.

"Why?" he asks. He's not relenting.

"I've got nothing left to give."

"Why?" he presses. And that's it. I can't do this anymore. I refuse to waste any more time. I've got better things to do than to sit here and wait for the inevitable rejection.

"This conversation is over," I say acidly and begin to push myself up from the booth.

His hand shoots across the table covering mine. I sit back down slowly and scowl at him.

"Don't leave, please?" He sounds sincere, but I know better.

"There's really no point in me staying," I answer truthfully.

Some sort of panicked look comes over his face as he moves his hand up my arm. "Dance with me," he demands as he starts to pull on my arm. I yank it back from him forcefully.

"I don't dance."

"What do you mean you don't dance? Everyone dances," he says smugly. Oh he's so full of himself, so cocky and oozing with sex appeal. I'm sure women drop their pants in a nanosecond within this mans presence.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Not everyone dances."

"What, have you got a broken leg or something?" He laughs.

I let out a huff at him and shake my head. "Or something."

Well, that didn't last long. Less than ten minutes, I'd say? That's got to be a record or something for me.

I scoot over to the edge of the booth and rise up, reaching around for my cane.

His eyes grow wide and his mouth drops open slightly as I turn back to him.

"Edward, it was nice to meet you. I'm sure you're a nice guy. Emmett knows a lot of people. I'm fairly certain he can hook you up with someone much more suitable for you than me." He watches intently as I lean slightly on the cane and make my way for the door.

Fuck I hate having a new prosthetic. At least with my old one I could have made a graceful escape without a cane. But I just got this one yesterday and so the cane is making a dreaded appearance, at least for a couple of days. Actually, to be perfectly honest, I probably don't need it. But, I kind of expected something like this from Emmett tonight, and I am grateful that I brought it right now. Now I don't have to waste any time becoming more attracted to this dream-like man before he finds out and predictably blows me off, just like the long string of losers Emmett has paraded me in front of for the last five years.

Em turns his head from the dance floor and sees me struggling to leave. He pushes his way through the crowd to get to me with Rose following behind him.

"What's going on, B? Are you ok?" Emmett asks concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just kind of tired. I'm going to go home." I issue him the look. The one reserved that says 'back the fuck off and leave me alone'.

He nods his head and takes a step back. "I'll call you tomorrow." His voice is quiet and he knows he's in deep shit…again.

"See you in the morning, Rose." She hugs me tightly before I turn and limp my way through the pulsating bodies on the dance floor and back to my all too empty house.

* * *

Chapter End Notes:

_**Up next EPOV...he's got some issues of his own.**_

_**Thanks for reading and reviewing.**_


	2. Chapter 2

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Thank you. February 2010.

**Many thanks to my wonderfully talented beta, xrxdanixrx.**

**------------------------------------  
**

EPOV

Fuck I hate traffic.

I've been sitting in the same fucking spot for twenty minutes. I haven't moved even a centimeter.

I'm supposed to be meeting Emmett and the now infamous Bella he hasn't stopped talking about since I broke up with Angela.

There's a fun memory I wish I could erase. Imagine coming home and finding what you hoped was going to be your fiancé, fucking one of her grad students…in your bed.

I got rid of the bed the day after and proceeded to fuck everything that passed by my studio for the next two months until it became impossible to tell them apart anymore.

It was fun for a while. I purposefully chose completely different women every night. The anticipation of the hunt fuelling my desire. Would she have blonde hair or red? Blue eyes or brown? Waxed or not?

It became a game for me. Unfortunately, a game that proved to be less than satisfying at the end of the night. All it turned into was one good fuck after another. Well, not even a good one most of the time.

I stopped when I woke up one morning and had absolutely no idea the name of the blonde lying next to me. Not even a first initial. I had become everything my father had been and I threw up beside her.

I haven't been set up like this in years. Recently, I've just shown up at the latest party or bar and picked up the first random girl I could find who showed even the slightest bit of interest.

So, I'm actually looking forward to this. To try to get back to some form of normal dating behaviour that doesn't end with me not calling the next day.

Despite everything that happened with Angela, I miss not being in a relationship. I hate being alone. I don't do it well. I crave intimacy and sharing coffee in the morning. I want to sit and talk about everything and nothing with someone.

Mostly, I want to feel a connection again.

My work has taken a blow as well. I'm finding it hard to find inspiration, no matter how many women I fuck. Everything is coming out plain, boring and uninspired.

I've stared at blank canvasses a thousand times over and nothing comes out. It's a good thing I completed and sold so much work early on in my career or I'd be on the street at this point.

I've taken, recently, to doing some graphic design work for various advertising agencies. I certainly don't need the money, but it's mindless and easy and, at least, I feel like I'm doing something.

Finally, the traffic is moving again and I wind my way through the streets of downtown Vancouver and park close to the bar.

I wander into the bar and am hit by some sort of dreaded techno mix that makes me cringe. I prefer classical music truthfully. It soothes me and recently, women find it charming or something. At least I got to listen to Puccini while I fucked my latest random conquest.

I scan, looking for Emmett and see him standing up motioning for me to join him.

Rose is with him. It will take a lot to get back into her good books. I went out with one of her friends…well, we never actually left her apartment, but I never called her again. I think her name was Jessica or maybe it was Stacy. I can't really be sure.

I make my way through the pulsing bodies on the dance floor and reach the table.

"Edward, man! I was beginning to think you weren't gonna show," Emmett says, smiling at me.

"Sorry, the traffic is brutal," I explain.

"Edward, you know Rose already. This is Bella." Rose narrows her eyes at me in a silent warning and Bella looks up at me.

She's running her fingers through her thick brunette hair and she raises her face to me. She's got the most expressive and dark eyes I've ever seen. It looks as though she wants to cry right now. She licks her bottom lip before biting down on it and offers me a weak smile before turning back to her drink.

I flash her the panty dropping smile I've come to rely on.

"Nice to meet you, Bella, finally." I raise my eyebrows to her.

"You too," she mutters, looking less than impressed.

To say I'm intrigued is an understatement. She's clearly got a story and I want to know what it is.

Emmett whisks Rose to the dance floor and I sit down across from her. I wish I could see the rest of her body. I'm a bit of an ass and leg man, and it's almost killing me not to know what she's got hiding under the table.

Her brusque voice brings me out of my daydream. "Let's just get this over with, ok? You pretend to ask me questions, I'll look like I'm vaguely interested, I'll give Em the signal, and then we can both just go."

Did she really just say that? She's blowing me off?

"Is that what you really want to do?" I ask her, hoping desperately she says no.

"It'll make this go a fuck of a lot faster." Oh, I get it; Emmett does this all the time to her. And then I wonder why someone who is this beautiful isn't with someone already. The possibilities are endless. I settle on the fact that she must be some sort of ice queen.

"So, he does this a lot then?"

"More than you can imagine." I sense that Emmett is going to hear a lot more about this tomorrow and not in a good way.

"And these meetings, they always end the same way?" I ask, intrigued as to why this beautiful woman needs Emmett to help her get a date.

"Always," she says bluntly.

"What if this time, it's different?"

"It won't be." She sounds so damn sure of herself.

"How can you be so sure?" I challenge.

"Experience."

"You've never experienced me before." I raise an eyebrow and stare back at her, hoping she'll grant me a bit more time. "Tell me something about yourself. Something nobody else knows." I ask this question a lot to women. It makes me appear interested and usually gets them revealing some sort of secret that I can use later when I want to get them into bed.

"I cry myself to sleep every single night." Oh, this isn't what I expected her to say and I feel horrible for asking her. Why is she crying herself to sleep every night?

I'm unaware that I've actually asked her why until she answers. We banter back and forth and I'm only vaguely aware of what I'm even saying. She is completely captivating. So intense and raw and, suddenly, she's shifting to the side of the booth. Oh no! She's leaving. No! She can't leave, not just yet.

"This conversation is over," she says bitterly.

Oh, shit. What did I just say? I need to make this right, so I shoot my hand across the table and cover hers. "Don't leave, please?"

"There's really no point in me staying." She's adamant and so I pull out my ace card.

"Dance with me." I know my way around a dance floor, and doesn't every woman love a man who can dance?

"I don't dance," she says definitively, and I realize that maybe the ice queen thought that crossed my mind isn't so far off. Who doesn't dance for fuck's sake?

"What do you mean you don't dance? Everyone dances." I smile at her.

She glares across the table at me. "Not everyone."

"What, have you got a broken leg or something?" I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

Her face immediately falls. "Or something."

She stares back at me, waging some sort of internal war, it seems, and then lifts herself from the booth and reaches around to the back of it.

And then my heart stops beating as I see her steady herself on a cane before taking a few shaky steps away from the table and turning her petite body back to me.

"Edward, it was nice to meet you. I'm sure you're a nice guy. Emmett knows a lot of people. I'm sure he can hook you up with someone much more suitable for you than me."

Fuck me and my big mouth. I've just offended this beautiful creature without even knowing it. _"Have you got a broken leg or something?" _ Why am I so stupid?

I rake my fingers through my hair. I don't want her to go, but it seems inevitable. The least I can do is allow her to make a graceful exit.

Emmett and Rose appear at her side as I continue to stare at her. They engage in some sort of conversation, though, what they're saying, I have no idea because right now I can't even think straight.

Bella disappears into the crowded dance floor without another word to me.

"Dude? What the fuck did you say to her?" Emmett asks, glaring at me.

"I didn't say anything."

Rose looks pissed. "You must have said something. I've never seen her bolt that fast before."

"I think I offended her," I say quietly.

"What? How?" Emmett looks as though he may explode.

"I asked her to dance."

"Bella doesn't dance. Not anymore," Rose hisses at me as if I'm supposed to know this.

"You might have shared that little tidbit of information with me before." I stare back at Emmett and his expression softens.

"I'm sorry, man. I probably should have told you, but she hates when I do this and I thought you guys would hit it off."

"What happened to her? Her leg, I mean. Is it broken or something?"

Emmett sits down beside me and Rose stays standing with her arms crossed glaring at me.

"No man, it's not broken. She lost it from the knee down in a skiing accident," Emmett says quietly, looking down at the table.

"What?" My mind is reeling with this admission.

Rose shakes her head, lets out a huff, and follows Bella out the door while I try to digest what he's telling me.

"She wears a prosthetic." His voice is quiet as he watches me closely.

"How? How did this happen?" The blood is coursing through my veins as I imagine the torment this poor beautiful woman has gone through.

"I don't think that's my story to tell, man," he says hesitantly.

"Emmett! For fuck's sake man! If you had told me this, I would have..."

"You would have what? Huh? Would you have even agreed to meet her?" He narrows his eyes at me.

"I'm not sure."

He shakes his head in disapproval and I feel like crawling under the rock I've slithered out from.

"I kind of expected more from you, Edward. I mean, Bella's a beautiful woman inside and out. I would have thought you, of all people, would be able to see that." He gets up without another word and starts for the door leaving me at the table.

The incessant beat blares on in the background and suddenly, I'm launching myself out of the seat and going after him. "Emmett! Wait!"

He's out the door and I grab his arm, pulling him to a stop.

"Hold up. Give me her number." I'm begging him. Actually begging for a woman's phone number for the first time since I can remember.

"I don't think so, Edward," he says firmly.

"Why not? I need to talk to her. Apologize at least."

He shakes his head. "No way man. I'm in enough shit as it is."

"Emmett, please. Give me something. I feel horrible."

He hesitates for a minute and then says, "She works with Rose at the foundation. That's all you're getting."

I breathe a sigh of relief and pat him on the back. "Thank you."

"If you screw this up, I will personally hunt you down and make you pay." It's the most serious thing Emmett has ever said to me and I simply nod my head.

I hear Rose calling him from down the street and his expression changes instantly, "Gotta go, man. Rosie's pissed and I need to do some serious damage control."

He takes off in a run towards her, picking her up and twirling her around before setting her down and opening the car door for her.

I can't get back to my loft fast enough. I bolt through the door and take the stairs two at a time up to my studio. I feverishly grab my brushes and squeeze massive amounts of chocolate brown, crimson red, and onyx black paint out from the crisp tubes onto my worn palette.

With my heart pounding hard in my chest, I stand in front of the nineteen blank canvases and, for the first time in months, there is no hesitation.

Inspiration has hit. Fast and furious and unrelenting.

I coat my brush with red and start to paint.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes**

**Oh dear…they're not off to a good start.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing...Let me know what you think! It truly does make a difference!**


	3. Chapter 3

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Thank you. February 2010.

_**Many thanks to my wonderfully talented beta, xrxdanixrx.**_

_**Thanks to all for reading...there's lots of you...now, let me know what you think. Reviews really do make a difference.**_

_**This isn't going to be all roses and sunshine. These two have a lot to figure out...let's see if they do it together.  
**_

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BPOV

As I wake and sit up in bed, the sheets are already soaked through to the mattress. My heart races towards the inevitable panic attack. I haven't had one in a few weeks, and for that, I'm grateful.

This one is bad. My heart is beating so fast, it could burst out of my chest. The sweat rolls off me as I try to regain control of my breathing. It feels as if the whole world is spinning and I'm stuck in the middle, watching it go out of control around me.

The attacks vary in intensity; some lasting only a few minutes, some for almost

twenty. But they do pass and I resume what's left of my life.

Today, it's ten minutes before I'm able to actually stand, on my good leg, and begin the process of getting ready for the day.

I'm not bitter about what's happened. I've learned to adjust. I've had to. What pisses me off are people's reactions. For the most part, you'd never even know I have a prosthetic. In fact, most people don't know when they first meet me.

When they do find out, it's a mixture of emotions; pity, sympathy, shock, overcompensation. "Can we help you do this? Do you want to take the elevator instead of the stairs? "

I choose the stairs every single time. And hopefully, during the process, some of them learn if there is a challenge thrown at you in your life, there is always a way to overcome it.

Recently, I've been trying to find a way to overcome the challenge of men, and it's proven to be futile to date. They either can't accept that this is, and will always be a part of my life, or they try to smother me, change me, try to make everything better when all I want, is just to be normal.

They are shocked that I still run at least 5K every day. "Isn't that dangerous? Should you really be doing that?" That's the typical reaction.

So I've stopped trying. I lived this long and come this far without a man. Still, there are things I miss, especially when I spend time with the gang. I see how Jazz worships Ali, and what a passionate relationship Em has with Rose and I miss it. But I've resigned myself to being alone and quite frankly, last night's disaster just serves to reinforce my choice.

He couldn't even speak when he saw the cane. How would he feel seeing the leg? I shake my head and put on my swim leg before taking a much needed shower.

Rose is already immersed in the latest mock-ups for the Boreal Forest campaign when I arrive at the office.

She's angry when she looks up from her desk, waving a stack of glossies at me.

"These, are fucking brutal. How hard is it to come up with a graphic for fuck's sake? I've got a bear and a tree? Seriously? That's the best they can come up with?" Oh, Rose in a bad mood…not a good way to start the day.

I laugh at her and produce her morning double latte. "Will this help?"

"Oh, thank the Lord." She grabs it and takes a sip. "How was the rest of your night?" She looks at me with concern.

"It was fine. Went straight to bed. You know, the usual," I say, sitting down in her overstuffed leather chair in the corner.

"What did he say to you last night? I went to try to find you, but you were already gone."

"Nothing. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to Rose. And why didn't you warn me Emmett was up to no good?"

"Don't be mad at Em. He's just trying to help," she says sincerely. I know she's right, that doesn't mean I have to like it.

"I know he is, but come on, Rose. Someone like Edward is not going to be interested in me."

"Do I need to get out the violins now? Are we having a full on pity party?" She cocks her head to the side and stares at me.

"You know what I mean."

"And you know what I mean Bella. You deserve to be with someone. You're alone too much."

"No, I'm not. I have you guys to keep me company. That's more than enough…trust me." I smirk at her before getting up and making my way back to my office and immerse myself in another riveting round of funding budgets for The Foundation.

Rose and I started our own company about year after the accident. The Foundation raises money for a range of environmental causes. We usually have a few massive events every year that draw a crowd, and a lot of money, thanks to Alice and her uncanny ability to always attract the whose who of Vancouver to our various missions.

It's just after twelve when Rose comes to collect me for lunch.

"Let's go, Bella, you know how Alice hates to wait." She taps her foot while she lingers at the door.

Alice is already seated with bread at the table and wine glasses full when we get to Vibe. Apparently, it's the in place to be according to her and so, we must eat here once a week for lunch to see and be seen.

I stow the cane against the booth and slide in beside Rose.

"So, what did you think of Edward?" Alice asks, clapping her hands together.

"Do I get to have a drink first?" I raise an eyebrow at her and she chuckles at me.

"He's really hot, Bella. I mean, not as hot at Jazz, I don't think anyone could be." She gets a dreamy look on her face and plays with her spiked hair.

"Please, spare us." Rose rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her wine.

"So?" She stares at me waiting impatiently.

"He's cute, but not my type," I say.

"What the fuck exactly is your type Bella? We've tried to set you up with tall guys, short guys, athletic guys, bald guys, hot guys, even geeks. You don't seem interested in any of them." Rose glares at me.

"I think you mean they're not interested in me, Rose."

"Are we going to start this again? Bella, you're hot. Who gives a fuck about this?" She taps my cane and narrows his eyes at me.

"People care. Trust me. You know this by now."

She waves her hand at me dismissively and lets out a huff.

"Anyway, he saw me leave. Trust me when I tell you, he's not interested," I say.

"What if he was?" Alice asks, raising her eyebrows.

"This conversation is pointless, Alice. Why are you guys so intent on hooking me up with somebody anyway? I'm perfectly fine on my own."

"We want you to be happy. That's all." She smiles and reaches across the table squeezing my hand.

"I know, and I love you guys for it. But if something's going to happen, it just will happen. Can we talk about something else?"

"You need a date for the charity auction." Rose stares back at me.

"That's not for a month, Rose."

"Hence the reason we need to start looking now." She scans the restaurant, eyeing every man in sight while I shake my head.

Alice launches into every possible detail about the vintage shop she's recently found while I listen intently. Alice writes the famed Out and About column for Vancouver Magazine and has become known for recommending up and coming clothing stores, restaurants, and clubs. Apparently, a shopping trip in search of the perfect vintage dress is in our future plans this weekend.

"I thought we could meet up at around 9:00 and get there before the crowds. They get a new shipment on Saturdays, and the owner told me there are a bunch of dresses coming in," she says with a gleam in her eye.

It's hard to imagine anyone being this excited about shopping at a vintage store, but if I'm being honest, her enthusiasm is contagious.

"Sounds good to me." Rose nods in agreement as our meals arrive. Of course, Alice has already ordered for us; a spring mix salad for me, Rose with her usual Club Sandwich and Alice with a massive burger and fries. She must have the metabolism of a race horse to stay as tiny as she is.

We're half way through our meals, when two attractive men skulk by the table, ogling at Rose. She tends to garner attention everywhere we go, and today is no different.

"We were wondering if you'd like to join us for a drink?" the blonde with the Armani suit, leers at her. Oh, this ought to be good. She's in no mood today.

"Do I have 'pick me up' written on my forehead?" She raises an unimpressed eyebrow to the guy who is staring at her chest. "Hey, genius! My face is up here." He flushes red and looks nervously at his partner in crime. "Move along, gentlemen. This ship has sailed and you're not welcome on board," she says, not skipping a beat as she continues eating her sandwich.

They slink away as Alice and I burst out laughing.

"Never a dull moment," Rose mutters.

"Oh, I need to go." I say, looking at my watch. "I have my follow-up." I reach into my wallet and hand Rose cash to cover lunch.

"Ah, an appointment with the ever attentive Mr. Black?" Rose raises an eyebrow.

"Stop it, Rose."

"There's a man I'd eat crackers in bed with," she marvels.

"Rose! What about Emmett?" Alice says, throwing her napkin at her.

"Oh, you know what I mean. He's one hot man, Bella. And you know he likes you. Maybe you should ask him to the auction." Rose suggests.

"Yeah, I don't think so. I mean, I don't want to cross that line with Jake. He's been a really good friend and he understands me…this." I reflect, standing up from the booth.

"And your point is?" Rose pushes.

"Let's just not go there right now, ok?" I gather my bag as she hands me the cane. "I'll see you back at the office later."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, Bella," Alice waves as I make my way out the door.

xxxxxxxx

I sit on the edge of the examination table, both of my legs dangling as Jake completes his weekly once over.

Jake has been my physiotherapist from the beginning and we've grown very close. Actually, recently, I think Rose is right. Jake has developed some deeper feelings for me as our usual banter has started to go down a more precarious road. I know I'm blurring the lines of our relationship, but I feel drawn to Jake. He knows me so well and we've been through so much together. It's hard to imagine him not being in my life.

Today, we've gone through the usual physio session and gait training as he monitors my progress with the new leg intently.

He's sitting on a short stool, his large, strong hands rubbing a continuous pattern over both of my thighs as he stares up at me with the now familiar look of longing.

"Well, everything looks good." He smirks at me and I shake my head at him.

"I'd say you can start running again. You know, probably loose the cane." He lifts his head towards my cane that's sitting perched beside the exam table.

This is why I love Jake so much. He's the first one to call me out on stuff like this. He knows I don't need the cane anymore and so do I.

"Do I hear a challenge in there, Mr. Black?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Honestly, I'm not sure you're up for it, Bella." He slides the chair back and gets up, moving to the sink to wash his hands.

"Tomorrow at 6:30 work for you?" I cock my head to the side and stare him down.

"6:30 in the morning?" He looks a little worried.

"Is that too early for you? Aren't you up and pumping iron or something at that time?" He laughs and dries his hands before stalking back over and resting his forearms on the table.

"6:30 is perfect. Same place?" he asks, leaning towards me.

"Sounds good." I smirk and hop down from the table. "Thank you." I smile at him and nod towards the cane.

"You're welcome. He returns the smile and holds the cane out to me. "Don't use this anymore."

"Ok." I roll my eyes at him and open the door.

"See you tomorrow." He nods back at me and watches as I exit the office, a smug smile plastered on his face.

There's a flurry of activity at reception when I arrive back at the foundation as Rose and Lauren, our ever eager receptionist, fawn over some massive arrangement of purple Hyacinths stuffed into a clear glass vase.

"Hey, who's the lucky lady?" I ask leaning in to breathe the flowers in.

Rose turns her head slowly to me and hands me the card. "You."

"What? No." I take the card from her. "There's got to be some mistake." I stare back at her before reading the card.

**_To new experiences…_**

"Who sent these? The card isn't signed."

"I have no idea," she marvels, staring back at Lauren.

"Don't ask me, it was just a delivery guy who brought them," Lauren says, staring at me wide eyed.

"Oh, no. These are from Jake." My heart starts beating faster. "We're going for a run together tomorrow. No. No. No. He's going to ruin everything."

Rose shakes her head at me. "It's just some flowers Bella. Relax. And you're going running tomorrow?"

"Yeah, why?" I narrow my eyes at her.

"About time," she says, before turning on her heel and heading back into her office.

I smile and start to make my way to another afternoon of charts and pivot tables.

"Hey, don't you want to take these?" Lauren asks, holding the flowers out to me.

"No, they look much better out here." I smile at her and close my door, launching into the exciting world of Excel, and wondering how the hell I'm going to deal with Jake tomorrow.

------------

Chapter End Notes:

**_Up next, EPOV- what is our struggling artist up to?_**

**_Update should be early next week._**

**_Press review and let me know what you think!  
_**


	4. Chapter 4

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Thank you. March 2010.

_**A million thanks to my wonderfully talented beta, xrxdanixrx, You rock sister!**_

_**Thanks to all who are reading and reviewing. As always, let me know what you think.**_

_**Here we go EPOV…**_

-------------

EPOV

Chapter 4

As the sun streams in through the skylight in the loft, I wake and realize I'm still in my clothes from last night. I don't even remember going to sleep. Oh fuck…maybe I dreamt the whole thing.

I launch out of bed and race down to my studio, releasing an audible sigh of relief. The first canvas is covered, the remnants of my fevered pursuit evident all over the floor and walls behind it.

I run my fingers over the kaleidoscope of colours that bleed together, before standing back and cocking my head to the side.

This is good. Very good. It's electric and exciting, filled with emotion and promise. I smile to myself and begin the clean up process that I should have done last night.

A half an hour later, the brushes are washed and I return them to dry in their holders.

I decide to take a much needed shower and turn it on, waiting for it to warm. Taking in my appearance in the mirror, I'm a total wreck…more disheveled than normal, if that's possible. There are paint splatters all over my face, my arms, my hands, even in my hair, and I smile knowing that this is a sign that I'm finally on the way back.

I let the pulse of the shower beat down on me as I drift back to last night. How can one simple encounter have such a dramatic impact on my life?

I cringe about what I said to her, but in my defense, how the hell could I have known? Still, the look on her face will haunt me for a long time. Disappointment, bitterness, shock, sorrow, regret. All there, laid out for me, and now on the finished canvas.

I know I need to make this right. She's ignited me again for the first time in months, and as much as I know I'm an ass, I do owe her an apology.

As I think about her beautiful face, her sad eyes, I get lost. I don't even realize I'm pumping my cock until my hand hits the wall of the shower as I steady myself.

I imagine what she would feel like beneath me, her hair slicked back from the shower as she takes me into the back of her throat. I come harder than I have in months as the shower runs cold over me.

This is what I've been reduced to by this woman. Whacking off like some pathetic seventeen year old with a high school crush.

I turn off the shower and dry my hair with a towel before wrapping it around my waist and heading to the closet to get dressed for the day. I'm not at all looking forward to meeting Jane this morning. She's been on my fucking case for months, hounding me about when I'm going to have something else for her to sell to her band of privileged snobs.

I know I shouldn't complain. The fact that they have money to burn and want to spend it on me should be flattering, but somehow, it makes me feel cheap, like I'm just some gun for hire. I'm fairly certain they don't even appreciate the work. They just want whatever the latest and greatest is hanging in their offices or their party rooms, so they can try to impress their disgustingly rich friends.

But, despite all of this, I gather my coat and head out to meet her. Maybe I am just an art whore after all.

xxxxxx

Fuck, I hate waiting. Jane is late…again, and here I sit, my leg bouncing off nervous energy, because all I want to do is get back to the studio and start painting again.

I finally see Jane saunter in, all fresh from a fake and bake session. She's died her long hair platinum blonde again, probably because she somehow got it in her head that I like blondes. She scans the coffee shop before offering me her best attempt at a seductive smile. She slinks across the café and sinks into the chair across from me.

"Edward, you're looking well," she purrs at me.

"You too, Jane." I try to sound sincere, and it almost works. I motion to the cup in front of her. "One cream, two sweeteners, right?"

"You remembered. How thoughtful of you." She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head and stares back at me as I suppress the vomit that's starting to rise in my throat.

What the hell was I thinking when I decided to fuck her? Yeah, right, I wasn't thinking. I was completely shit faced and feeling sorry for myself and she was all over me. At least, that's what I remember.

"How's your little problem coming along?" She raises her eyebrows at me. God, she's a bitch, but she's also the first art dealer who bought my collection and put me on the map. She knows people and without her, I'm well aware that I may still be some starving artist. If I'm being honest, right now, that thought isn't unwelcome.

"Actually, I had a breakthrough last night." I smile from behind my coffee cup.

"You did?" Her face lights up as she stares at me in disbelief.

"Yes, I did. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Actually, I was starting to wonder about you, Edward. It's been almost a year since I've had anything new to sell." She looks at me disapprovingly.

"I'm aware of that Jane," I say acidly.

"So, tell me about it." She takes a sip of coffee and waits.

"It's a work in progress." She looks at me skeptically.

"Don't worry. The drought is over. I can feel it." I smile at her and she relaxes slightly.

"Good. How long?"

"How long what?" I ask, knowing exactly where she's going.

"How long before it's done? I have people calling wondering if you've dropped off the face of the earth, Edward. A timeline would be nice."

"Fuck, Jane. I don't know! It takes as long as it takes. Isn't it better if I keep people waiting?"

"Depends on the people," she says, cocking her head to the side.

"How about I let you know once it's ready?"

"OK. What triggered this amazing breakthrough, anyway? I'm curious." She flashes her eyes at me and I recognize that look. She's got her sights set on me and is moving in for the kill. Oh, fuck.

"Actually, a woman," I admit. Her face takes an immediate downturn.

"Oh, don't tell me one of your trashy conquests is your muse, Edward." She rolls her eyes at me.

"She's not a trashy conquest, Jane. I've only just met her," I mutter.

"Ah, she's holding out on you. Interesting strategy. I'll have to remember that." She twirls a piece of her hair between her fingers.

"You know, Edward, if you're feeling neglected, or need to let off some steam, I'd be more than happy to help you out. I wouldn't want your frustrations to get in the way with your creativity." She leans forward and strokes her fingers across the back of my hand. I recoil immediately.

There's a time when I probably would have taken her up on her offer…as disgusting as it sounds to me right now. Actually, if I remember correctly, she was a pretty decent fuck. She's a bit of a freak…or maybe that was Jennifer? But now, that's the last thing I want. I also know I'm walking a fine line with Jane. If I piss her off too much, she could make things difficult for me, to say the least, so I say the only thing I can.

"I'll keep that in mind Jane." She looks satisfied with my answer, for now, and smiles back at me.

We finish our coffee and I promise to call her next week to give her an update. I breathe a sigh of relief as she disappears out of the coffee shop.

On my walk back to the studio, I make a calculated call. The little gem of information that Emmett gave me last night is golden. Bella works with Rose at The Foundation, and so I use my mobile to find the address. I try to imagine the look on Bella's face when she gets flowers from me; it's unexpected, mysterious, fascinating. This shit has worked before for me too many times to count. I mean what woman doesn't love flowers?

I arrive back to the studio and stand in front of the completed canvas. It's dried now and I carefully cover it with white muslin. This is the way I work. I know this is going to be a collection of pieces, but I don't want any of them distracting me as I work on the next one.

I turn back to my paints, and still my hand over them. Closing my eyes, I reach for three colours blindly and smile as I squeeze them out onto my pallet.

Standing in front of the massive blank white frame, a thousand thoughts run through my mind. The possibilities of this journey are endless, but the roads to travel to my destination all point in a singular direction.

I close my eyes and imagine her standing in front of me, the sorrow on her face washed away. Happy, beautiful, mine.

I work feverishly until night falls and exhaustion takes me over the edge into brilliant dreams of her.

* * *

Chapter End Notes

_**Up next, BPOV and a run with Jake…**_

_**Let me know what you think! It really does make a difference!**_

_**Update should be by end of the week.**_


	5. Chapter 5

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Thank you. March 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to my extremely talented beta, xrxdanixrx. Check out her stories Hate Me and Here We Go Again. You rock, sister!**_

_**For all of you reading and reviewing-thank you! Hope you enjoy and as ever, let me know what you think…**_

_**Let's check in with our Bella, shall we...**_

* * *

BPOV

Chapter 5

As I pull up to the parking lot, Jake is already waiting, leaning against a bench and smiling as I emerge from the Jeep.

"Good morning. I'm surprised you're actually here," I say, nudging him in the shoulder.

"I told you I'd be here. I don't break promises, Bella." He smiles at me, and looks down to my leg.

"How's it feeling? You up for this?" he asks.

"I think the question should be, are you?" I raise an eyebrow at him, and he breaks out a wide smile.

"I don't have problems getting anything up with you, Bella." He smirks at me and walks into the open field.

I follow him, and we stretch for a few minutes in the dewy grass before breaking out into a slow jog through the park. It's relatively empty, the morning fog is just starting to burn off, ,and I'm grateful for Jake at this point. He's been pivotal in my gait training, and the reason I'm able to run at all. He matches me stride for stride, and soon, we are flowing at a good pace.

"Looks good," he breathes beside me. "Told you that you didn't need the cane. Why do you use that thing anyway?" he asks, sounding annoyed with me.

"I don't use it all the time. You know that. I haven't even been a week with the new prosthetic. I'm just being careful," I try to explain even though we both know it's bullshit.

"Whatever you say." He smiles down at me and I shake my head.

"Hey, I got your delivery yesterday. You didn't need to do that."

"What are you talking about? What delivery?" he asks.

"Right. You didn't send me flowers yesterday?" I ask, as he picks up the pace of our run.

"You got flowers yesterday?" He actually sounds shocked.

"Nice try. They're beautiful, but Jake, I'm not sure what they mean exactly."

"Hey, I'd be more than willing to take credit for whatever mystery flowers got sent to you, but you don't seem to like them, so I won't," he says sarcastically.

"Jake, stop it. We should probably talk about this." I stop running and look up at him.

"Talk about what, Bella? I didn't send you flowers," he says insistently.

"Seriously? You didn't?"

"No." He shakes his head at me. OK, now I'm totally confused. If Jake didn't send them, I'm not sure who would have. "What would be the big deal if I did anyway?" he asks, gazing down at me.

"Jake, you know how much you mean to me. But…"

"But what, Bella?" He place his warm hand on my arm. "Would this be so bad?" He runs his hand up my arm and behind my neck.

"Jake, please don't, ok? You can't do this. I need you, just not the way I think you're starting to want me." I stare up at him, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

"We've still got another 2K to go, Swan. Think you can keep up?" He opens his eyes and smirks down at me.

"I can try."

"Then, so can I." He breaks out in a run as the city wakes up around us.

xxxxx

"The flowers aren't from Jake," I announce, handing Rose over her double latte and sinking into the chair in the corner.

"What?" She looks up from her desk and furrows her eyebrows at me. "Then, who are they from?"

"I have absolutely no idea," I answer truthfully.

"You've got a secret admirer," she says, waggling her eyebrows.

"I do not," I argue.

"Whatever. Somebody likes you. We just need to figure out who." She taps her pen on the desk and stares back at me.

"Alright, Nancy Drew. I'll leave you to it."

"Oh, Edward Cullen is coming in today. I thought you might want to know, in case you run into him or something," she mutters.

"Why is he coming here?" I ask suspiciously.

"Relax. It's not another hook up attempt…although, he is good eye candy."

"Good eye candy? Rose!" I roll my eyes at her.

"He's an artist. A really good one actually. He does graphic design work on the side. He's been doing work for Emmett. I'm bringing him in to try to knock some ideas around with the nimwits we've got here. He should be here around ten o'clock or so." I glance down at my watch. "That gives you enough time to go get beautiful." She smirks at me.

"Don't even think about it," I warn her.

"We may need to stop by to talk about his fees. You know, make sure that we have enough in the budget to afford him." She smiles at me devilishly.

"You're going to hell. You realize this, right?"

"It's a fun, fun ride, my friend." She laughs.

I make my escape into my office and shut my door. Oh, fuck. This is the last thing I need right now. I'm so not in the mood to deal with this…with him. I shake my head and resolve that he's probably forgotten completely about me. I don't even know why I give a shit.

Just like clockwork, my phone rings at 9:30. "Hi, Mom."

"Am I that predictable, Bella?" She laughs.

"Only on Thursdays. How's the week been?" I smile as I wonder how she manages to call me at exactly the same time every week. Renee has always been a bit scattered. I remember opening my lunch at school several times to multiple types of cereal and bananas, both of which I hate.

"Good, Phil's team has made it to the finals." She sounds so proud of him and his team of bantam hockey players that he coaches. Phil is my step father. I hardly know him, but he treats her well and was there for her after Dad had a heart attack, which he never recovered from.

It was a difficult time for both of us. Charlie's heart attack came about six months after my accident. The stress of dealing with me, in my emotionally unstable state at the time, was too overwhelming for him to bear I suppose.

She spiraled out of control shortly after his death. She took to partying like a nineteen year old, out until all hours of the night, coming home loaded or high. I looked after her in the mornings, nursing her hang over, as I dealt with learning how to walk again.

She met Phil at some seedy biker bar a few months later. He had rolled into town on his Harley and was looking for a place to start over, from what, I'm not sure, but then I've not bothered to speak to him enough to ask either.

"The finals huh? That's exciting," I say dully.

"Oh, it really is! You should come. It's next weekend." I scowl at the thought of spending more time in a hockey rink. I played growing up and all the way through high school. I've had my fill of stale hot chocolate and freezing my ass off, thank you very much.

"Oh, I can't, Mom. Rose and I are getting together for the auction. You know, planning and everything." I roll my eyes as the concept of planning is completely lost on her.

"Oh, right, the auction. How's it coming along?"

"I think it's going to be good. We should be able to raise a lot of money."

"How's Jake?" she asks, switching gears completely.

"He's good, Mom. I saw him this morning. We went running."

"Oh you did, huh?" she asks suggestively.

"Mom, Jake and I are just friends." Oh I so wish she'd get off of her fantasy of Jake and I getting some white picket fence and living happily ever after.

"Jake is good for you, Bella," she says definitively.

"I know, that's why he's one of my best friends." I get up from the desk and stare out the window, wondering if I actually did the right thing with Jake this morning.

"Ok, well, I need to go. I'm off to my cooking class," she says excitedly.

"You're taking cooking lesson? Have you called the fire department to let them know?"

"Very funny. I'm taking Mexican cooking classes. How hard can it be?"

"Just be careful, ok?"

"OK. Love you, Bella."

"You too, Mom." I hang up and return to my faithful computer, diving into the riveting world of Google Analytics.

It's just before twelve when I emerge from my office. I glance down the hallway and see Rose hovering in the far corner with the design crew. High pitched laughter, , ,that I recognize immediately as Lauren's, comes ringing through the office as I see a mass of unruly hair over the top of the cubicles.

Oh shit! He's still here. I turn to sneak back into my office when Rose catches me.

"Bella! Come here." She motions to me, and I grimace at her. She's got that look again, and I know if I don't go, she's just going to come and drag me out. I opt for the less humiliating choice, and make my way down the hallway.

He lifts his head and breaks out a knowing smile as he stares at me intently. Jesus, he's beautiful. I take a deep breath and stop just in front of him.

"Edward, nice to see you again." I try to sound cordial.

"Bella, how are you?" he asks leaning towards me slightly.

"I'm fine, you?"

"I'm good. We're just going over some designs with the team. Would you like to take a look?" he asks, motioning to the table as our esteemed design team eye fucks him.

"No, that's ok. I'm not much of an artist, I'm afraid. I'm sure you've got it under control." He frowns slightly. "I'm heading out to grab some lunch. Rose, do you want me to get you anything?"

"No, I'm good. But why don't you take Edward with you and bring back some sandwiches for the team?" she asks, smirking at me.

I glare at her and shake my head. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was your personal caterer, Rose," I say sharply.

"Oh, don't be a hard ass, Bella. It's just sandwiches. I think you can handle it."

I swear to God I'm going to kill her. I narrow my eyes at her and turn pointing towards reception. "Edward, the cafeteria is this way." He smirks at Rose and walks ahead of me. I turn to give her the finger and see Lauren drooling after him, staring at his ass as he walks down the hallway. "You're going down for this," I threaten Rose.

"Oh, if anyone is going down, it's going to be you, my friend," she whispers and returns her attention back to the design table.

I mumble under my breath and join him as he waits at reception. He's grimacing as he eyes the vase of flowers. His expression changes as he watches me walk towards him. The man could give a fucking course in brooding stares designed to screw with your senses. I stop in front of the door to the stairwell as he pushes the arrow on the elevator.

"Cafeteria is only one floor down. What, have you got a broken leg or something?" I ask, cocking my head to the side.

He smiles darkly at me and takes a step towards me. "Lead the way, Bella."

I roll my eyes at him and push open the door, taking the stairs down to the bottom floor. I glance back over my shoulder before pushing the door open forcefully. He's stopped about half way down the stairs, just staring at me like he's frozen or something. Is he shocked that I can actually go down stairs? I shake my head, getting more and more pissed off at him as I make my way into the cafeteria.

Mike smiles widely at me from behind the counter, and this time, I return his smile. Mike asks me out every time I come to the cafeteria. I've given him lame excuses so far, because quite frankly, he just doesn't do anything for me. But right now, I'm feeling particularly bitchy due to Edward's inability to believe I can't navigate a simple staircase, and I think it might be a whole lot of fun to fuck with him.

So, I pull a page out of Rose's guide to flirting and listen intently as Mike tells me about the grilled panini masterpieces he's about to serve up for us. I know Edward is watching. I can feel him getting closer and closer to the counter as I continue to stare at Mike, pretending to be fascinated by what he's saying.

Mike leans across the counter towards me. "You should smile more often, Bella," he says. Oh, fuck. I feel like I may throw up, because now, he thinks I'm actually interested, and I feel horrible for using him just to piss Edward off.

If I'm being honest, Mike is fairly attractive, probably reliable, and maybe I should actually just bite the bullet and go out with him. I let out a nervous laugh as realization dawns on me that the only man I'm interested in right now, is standing beside me, glaring down at poor Mike like he wants to kill him or something.

Standing here, under the hum of the fluorescent bulbs in the cafeteria, the thoughts of dating Mike fade away the nanosecond I look up at Edward. I can feel the crack in the wall I've built up open up slightly and suddenly, I recognize that fairly attractive and probably reliable are just not going to cut it anymore.

* * *

Chapter End Notes:

_**Up next, Edward's messed up view of the world.**_

_**Let me know what you think – you know you want to!**_

_**Update next week...  
**_


	6. Chapter 6

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Thank you. March 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to my extremely talented beta, xrxdanixrx- Check out her stories Hate Me and Here We Go Again. You rock hun!**_

_**For all of you reading and reviewing-thank you! Hope you enjoy and as ever, let me know what you think…**_

**_Here we go...Edward's messed up view of the world:_**

EPOV

Ch 6

I watch her descend the stairs with relative ease. Actually, I watch her perfectly round ass as it sways slightly, and I fight the urge to pin her against the railing and fuck her over it right then and there. In my fucking stupid fantasy haze, I miss one of the steps and almost fall the rest of the way down the stairs. Thank God I catch myself before it happens. Of course, it's at this moment that she chooses to look at me…finally.

She stops at the door and peers over her shoulder, issuing me a smug stare and shaking her head before pushing open the door. I grow instantly harder, if that's possible. I can't remember when a woman has produced this kind of effect on me from a simple look. The thoughts of what I'd turn into if I actually ever got to touch her, are fucking overwhelming.

As I follow her into the cafeteria, I wonder idly what the hell the flowers are doing at reception. Why doesn't she have them in her office? Did the card get lost? Does she not like flowers? My mind starts to race as I see her saunter up to the counter and begin speaking with some young, wide eyed, eager prick. He's hanging on every word she says as he leans across the counter towards her.

I feel my blood begin to boil. Who is this ass? Is she interested in him? He's a punk for God's sake. I make my way to the counter and clear my throat behind her as she finishes laughing with him. Apparently, the guy's a fucking comedian.

"Oh, Edward, this is Mike. He's the chef here. He's opening his own restaurant in a couple of months," she says, sounding all proud of him or something.

"Well, that should be an upgrade for you from here then, Mike." I glare at him and Bella's mouth falls open.

"Edward! Mike is a very talented chef and you are being an ass right now." She scowls at me.

"I'm sorry. Congratulations on the restaurant," I murmur.

"Thanks," he mumbles as he disappears behind the counter and begins to assemble whatever he's making us for lunch.

"That wasn't very nice," she hisses at me as she whirls around, placing her hands on her hips.

"You're right. I need to learn to think before I speak, but it was the truth, Bella."

"You are the most self righteous prick I've ever met. Who the hell do you think you are?" She narrows her eyes at me and I can't help but smile at her. She's trying oh so hard to be viscous and failing miserably. I grin back at her, waiting for her assault to finish. "I mean, what the fuck have you ever done that's so great?" She cocks her head the side.

"I'm saving your forest campaign for one. Honestly, Bella, those poor souls you have in your creative department are terribly lacking in inspiration," I explain.

"And you're just full of inspiration these days, Edward?" She glares at me.

"So it would seem," I answer as she flushes and turns away.

"Here you go, Bells." The vaguely talented boy is back, looking all excited behind the register as he hands her a large paper bag.

"Thanks, Mike. Can you add it to our bill?" Her voice is sweet and soothing and in complete contrast to the acidic tone she seems to have reserved just for me.

"Sure thing." He offers her a smile and I move to take the bag from her.

"Please, allow me." I grab the top of the bag.

"I can handle it, thanks." She jerks the bag away from me and starts for the elevator.

"Not taking the stairs this time?" I muse leaning against the wall.

"My hands are a little full." She glares at me and I lift the bag from her. She releases her iron grip and pushes the bag towards me slightly.

The elevator arrives and she gets in, moving as far to the corner as she can possibly get. I, of course, stand right next to her as she stares forward and bites down on her bottom lip. Gazing down, I can see the rise and fall of her chest. Her v-neck sweater is cut down only enough for me to get a subtle glimpse, leaving my dick twitching and wanting more. The elevator doors open and she rushes out past the flowers as I follow closely.

"Did you know that purple hyacinths mean I'm sorry?" I ask.

She stops and turns around, her mouth partially open. I smirk and brush by her, carrying the bag to the table.

Rose and the design girls are pouring over my sketches as I turn back to see her staring at me in the middle of the hall. I motion for her to come join us, but she shakes her head and disappears into an office. I grab a sandwich for her and move to make my way down the hall, but I'm stopped by Lisa…Lucy…Laura? I'm not even sure.

"I'd like to hear more about your other design projects, Edward," she says, batting her eyes at me and running her hand down my arm. She's brunette and somewhat attractive, but the only brunette I want to think about right now is burying herself behind a door.

"I have a lot of projects on the go. Maybe later." I break from her and stop in front of the door Bella's hiding behind.

I knock and enter at the same time. She's sitting in a chair, leaning over at the waist. Her pant leg is pulled right up to her thigh and she's removing her artificial leg. I take a sharp breath in as she raises her eyes to me.

"Don't you knock?" she asks, leaning the leg against the side of the desk and lowering her pant down.

"I'm sorry, I…I…I thought you might want some lunch," I manage as she continues to glare at me. I can't take my eyes off the leg. It's so life like. I don't know what exactly I was expecting.

"Would you like to touch it?" she asks.

"What?" I finally tear my eyes away from the leg and look at her.

"Isn't that what you came in here for? To get a better look at it?"

"No…I...I…"

She pushes up from the chair and steadies herself on the desk. Picking up the leg, she takes one hop to me and balances a hand on the edge of her desk. She closes the distance between us.

"Here. Feel it." She holds it out to me and I take a step back from her. "It's made of silicone; it's been made to match my other leg with veins and everything. It's life like, don't you think?" She raises an eyebrow to me.

"Bella, that's not why I came in here. I…" I'm stammering like an idiot and I know this is exactly what she expects of me.

"Get out of my office," she seethes at me, narrowing her eyes.

And I just stand there, sandwich dangling from my hand, unable to move. The strength of this woman is staggering. I don't want to leave. I can't leave. Not like this.

"Bella, I didn't mean to upset you. I didn't come in here to…I mean Emmett told me, but that's not why I'm here." My voice is reduced to a mere whisper.

"Why are you here?" She hasn't taken her eyes off me.

"Emmett suggested my work to Rose. I'm an artist." Way to go genius. I couldn't sound more pathetic if I tried.

"Yes, you've said that already." She sinks back into her chair and moves the fabric of the pant back up, slipping the leg back on.

She slides her chair behind her desk and leans back tapping her pen on her keyboard. "Unless you needed something else, Edward, I've got work to do."

I stare back at her and swallow loudly before placing the sandwich on her desk and backing away from her. She shakes her head at me and diverts her attention to her computer.

"Bella, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" And I can see that a mere apology is not going to work. She's got herself convinced that a negative reaction is the only one she's ever going to get.

"You didn't mean to what, Edward? Don't you have some pretty drawings or something to do?" She glares at me with her jaw set.

"Come to dinner with me," I say softly.

"You want me to go to dinner with you? I think we've clearly established that is a complete waste of my time." She looks back to the computer and begins typing.

"You have to eat don't you?" I ask, taking a step towards her desk.

"Not with you I don't."

Fuck, this is going to be difficult.

"I know a great new steak and seafood place that just opened."

"I'm a vegetarian and I'm allergic to seafood," she says, without skipping a beat.

"OK, how about Italian? Japanese? Vegan? I know tons of places we could go," I say and it sounds like I'm close to begging.

"I bet you do. Do you alter all your random one night stands between these restaurants?" She looks up finally from the computer, her eyes darker.

"Bella, I'm really trying here. Cut a guy some slack. It's just dinner."

"It's never just dinner, Edward. I'm sure that's particularly true where you're concerned." She narrows her eyes at me.

"You think you know everything about me, don't you?"

"I'm fairly certain I have a pretty good idea," she hisses and moves back to watching the fascinating computer screen.

"I would have thought that you, of all people, w,, would be the last one to judge somebody. Guess I was wrong." I turn and smirk to myself knowing I've hit a nerve. Knowing that she's too damn stubborn to back down from a challenge like that.

Her voice rings out just before I shut the door. "Edward, wait."

I turn back slowly to her, trying very hard not to issue her the smug ear to ear grin I so want to break out. I knew she'd cave.

"What?" I lean against the handle on the door and try to look like I don't give a shit.

"You forgot your sandwich." She lifts her head to the sandwich on the desk and returns to studying the computer. I stare back at her as she continues working, and slowly walk back to retrieve the sandwich from her desk. Her eyes never leave the computer screen as I close the door quietly.

So I've been turned away…not once, but twice by this ice queen. I scowl at myself because I know that's not what she is. Still, the sting of rejection is something I haven't felt in a very long time, and I'd be lying if I said it doesn't fucking hurt like hell.

Liz or Lacey or whatever the fuck her name is, lingers in the hallway waiting to pounce as I start back down towards the design team.

"There you are, Edward. We were wondering where you had gone off to," she says, s,taring up at me. This is just too fucking easy.

I issue her the most intense, demanding fuck-me-now stare I can muster and she crumbles in front of me.

"Is there a place we can go?" I breathe, leaning towards her as her eyes grow wide.

"Umm." She looks frantically around the office and her eyes fall towards the stairwell. "This way." She hurries to the door and I stalk after her. She pushes the door open and it closes behind us with a thud.

I pin her to the wall, running my hands roughly over her breasts. "Is it safe in here?"

She nods. "Bella's the only one who uses the stairs and she just came back."

She breathes into my ear and plants hot, wet kisses on my cheek. I feel slightly nauseated, my head is spinning as I hike her skirt up and shove her panties out of the way, plunging my fingers into her. She moans and lifts her leg around my waist arching her back towards me.

"Mmm, Edward," she moans.

I shut my eyes and try not to imagine Bella. It's Linda or Loretta, writhing against the wall and moaning my name. I should be fucking hard as a Goddamn rock by now, but for the first time in my life, that's far from what I am. I think I'm going to throw up.

I curl my fingers up and circle my thumb around her clit. "So good," she murmurs. She's got no fucking idea. I'm not even trying here. I pinch her nipple with my free hand, harder than I know I should through her sweater as she breathes into my ear.

"Just let go," I growl at her. It sounds like a demand more than anything, because quite frankly, it is. I don't know how much more I can take. Thankfully, I feel her convulse around me as her leg drops from my waist. I push away from her and she reaches down to the zipper on my jeans. I place my hand over hers and pin it back over her head.

"I don't think so, Lara. You're nice and all, but I've got nothing with me." I hold her arms against the wall and whisper into her ear. "Maybe some other time."

I leave her there panting and only mildly satisfied as I bolt back into the office and make a b-line for the washroom.

What the fuck am I doing? What's happening to me? I slam the door to the stall shut and rake down my jeans, taking my flaccid dick in my hand and pumping hard. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to imagine Linda's face…wait, I don't even think that's her name. I mean whatever her name is, she's not hideous and I should be able to get hard because that's what I do. But as much as I try, the only face I can see is Bella's. I harden instantly, pumping harder as I spill out into the toilet.

xxxxxx

By the time midnight comes, I'm panting in front of three more finished canvasses with Shostakovich's 5th Symphony blaring through the loft. I can't fucking stop painting. It just pours out of me. The blood is coursing through my veins, fuelling my frenzy. My arms ache, the muscles in my back are straining from the sheer power I've put into my strokes. Time, space, and reason have been completely lost to me for the last ten hours.

The loft looks like a cyclone has gone through it. Paint splatters the floor, the walls, me. I take in the reflection that's evident in the window, and I cringe. I look like I've gone utterly insane. My eyes are wide and dilated. My hair is a fucked up mess as I stand staring at myself, trying to steady my breathing.

When I turn back to the finished paintings, I know its all worth it. Every ounce of frustration and angst, want and desire, disappointment and rejection is portrayed vividly in front of me. I dip my brush in black and paint my initials in the corner of each of the canvasses. I drop the brush to the floor and take the stairs up to my empty bedroom.

One thought invades my senses as I drift off…I wonder if she's crying herself to sleep tonight?

* * *

Chapter End Notes

The brilliant Shostakovich Symphony No.5-do yourself a favour and check it out:

www(dot) youtube(dot)com/watch?v=ogJFXqYEYd8

_**Oh no, now what's he going to do? **_

_**Next update soon**_

_**Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think**_


	7. Chapter 7

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Thank you. March 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to the fantastic, xrxdanixrx- You keep me sane!**_

_**For all of you reading and reviewing-thank you! Hope you enjoy and as ever, let me know what you think…**_

On with Bella…

* * *

BPOV

Ch 7

Once he's shut the door, I rest my forehead in my hands and try to calm my heart that decided to launch itself into overdrive the nanosecond he opened the door to my office.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Why couldn't I just accept his offer? He was being sincere. Well, he seemed like he was, anyway. I mean, when am I going to get an offer from someone like this again?

I get up and stare out the window, thinking perhaps that the fascinating view of the lovers walking hand and hand in the park will lead me to some sort of conclusion. There's a vision that just doesn't include someone like Edward. He's not a picnic in the park kind of a guy…at least, I think he's not.

I groan inwardly at what he said about me judging him. He's so fucking right. He totally called me out. When did I become everything I loathe? The fact that people make judgments on me before they even know the whole story is the fucking bane of my existence. And yet, here I am, assuming I know everything about him.

Still, he was a dick to Mike, and the design team bimbos were all over him, hanging on his every word. Yeah, I have a feeling that Edward gets what he wants whenever he wants it.

My mind wanders as I watch a couple making out under the big oak tree towards the center of the park. What harm could dinner really do in the grand scheme of things? I mean, he's right. I do have to eat. Which would lead to dessert, which would no doubt lead to a round of making out, which would lead to…the possibilities are endless.

I haven't had sex since the accident. Five fucking years. Yeah, I've had a lot of time to try to perfect releasing the sexual tension that's built up. Unfortunately, it's left me massively unsatisfied in the end. A sudden burst of panic hits me as I wonder if I'm destined to spend the rest of my life with the wide array of vibrators Rose and Alice continually buy me. I mean, yeah, some of them are interesting to say the least, but they're also no substitution for the real thing.

I miss the real thing…a lot. I groan that Edward fucking Cullen is the one who has brought me to this massive epiphany.

I give my head a much needed shake, and move back to the computer to try to focus on finishing the reports for the board. It's not long before Rose is bounding through the door.

"Where the fuck is Edward? We're not done back here," she barks at me.

"I don't know, Rose, I'm not his keeper." I flash my eyes to her and her face falls.

"What did he do this time?" she asks, sitting on the corner of my desk.

"Nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing, Bella."

I smile back at her. This is a sweet as Rose ever gets. "He asked me out to dinner."

"Really?" She raises her eyebrows.

"I'm not going," I say definitively.

She scowls at me. "What do you mean you're not going?" she asks.

"I don't need to waste my time with guys like Edward," I say simply.

"Guys like Edward? What does that mean exactly?"

"Pretentious, conceited, arrogant pricks. Is that a better description for you?"

"You forgot hot," she says.

"No, I didn't," I mumble. "I'm fully aware he's hot, Rose. He's also an ass."

"Hmm, and you've based this on what?"

"Did he pay you to come in here and torment me?" I ask.

She laughs and shakes her head. "I think you like him," she says knowingly.

"Shut up." I turn away from her.

"I'm right, ,aren't I?" She leans forward on the desk, and I flush crimson. "Good for you, Bella. Finally, someone's gotten under your skin. Took you long enough." She smiles and hops down from the desk, shutting the door behind her.

I know she's right…as usual. Edward has gotten under my skin. I'm not sure if I've ever been as simultaneously annoyed and turned on by the mere presence of a man as much as I am by him.

I know it's wrong. I know he's a player; all artistic and mysterious. He's probably had more girlfriends than he can count. Distractions like Edward Cullen are of little use to me. God knows, I don't need more drama in my life.

I settle back into my chair as I pour over the budgetary numbers for the board, trying desperately to not second guess myself.

A few hours later I'm more than done with my day. My head feels like it's going to explode, and I'm fairly certain my eyesight is worse having looked only at spreadsheets all day long. I pack up my laptop and make a hasty retreat for the stairwell and home.

The sound of my keys hitting the side table at the front door echoes through the house. It echoes because, there's no one here to greet me, no one waiting to decide if we should eat in, or go out. No one to ask me about my day, to sit outside and watch as the sun sets in silence.

I know I've done this to myself. I've put up these walls to keep people out. It's a decision I consciously made after it happened. I know I could be getting ready for a date with Edward right now if I wasn't so damn stubborn. I also know I'd inevitably be disappointed, so what the hell is the point?

Somewhere, deep down, I wonder if I've made the right decisions. Isn't feeling something better than feeling nothing at all? I move into the kitchen and pull out the jug of ice tea, pouring a tall glass and downing it quickly.

The answering machine flashes at me and I hit the button. I peer into the fridge to try to figure out something more exciting than a brick of cheese for dinner.

"Hey, Bella, it's Jake." I smile when I hear his voice. "Just making sure we're on for tomorrow morning. Call me and let me know."

I so don't feel like running tomorrow. What I feel like doing is calling in sick and spending the day on the couch with a package of Lindt dark peppermint chocolate, but I know Rose would never let me.

I pick up the phone and ring Jake. He answers immediately.

"Hi, Jake, it's Bella. How are you?"

"Good, I have a date tonight." He sounds excited and cocky as hell.

"Sounds good. With who?"

"New nurse from the hospital."

"Good for you. Where are you going?" I ask, breathing a sigh of relief. I know that Jake's been waiting around to make some sort of a move towards me, and after today's clear and definitive brush off, he's decided to abandon ship. I don't blame him. Not one bit. If I'm being honest, as much as I love Jake's friendship, that's all it's ever going to be for me.

He starts to rattle on about some restaurant he's going to, and I shut the door to the fridge. Suddenly, I'm not very hungry.

"Sounds like you're going to be having some fun tonight, Jake. You sure you're going to be up to a six thirty run tomorrow?" Please say no…fuck, please say no…

"Definitely! Nothing's keeping me from that, Bella. Same place?"

"See you there." I groan and end the call, making my way to my bedroom. I wish I could just throw myself down on the bed and wail until I fall asleep, but alas, the nightly ritual of cleaning and moisturizing my residual limb has to be done.

After removing the leg, I check for any redness or swelling, and then wash the limb, rinsing and drying methodically. I massage the scar for several minutes before wiping the prosthetic socket clean. I wash the liner and sock, and hang them on the drying stand. I think at this point, I can do my nightly ritual in my sleep.

Once I'm in my trusty cotton pajama bottoms and UBC t-shirt, I curl up into a ball and let the other nightly ritual, the flood of tears, begin.

I know I'm lucky. I have a circle of friends that I adore, a job that I love, and for the most part, I've gotten my life back. Physically, there's little I can't do. I'm not counting the things I won't do, like dancing.

Emotionally, I know I'm a wreck. I refuse to let anyone in. The fear of rejection I've always had, was amplified a thousand times over when the accident happened.

I wonder if there's ever going to be a time when this isn't how I end my day. I want to feel something again. But I also realize that it's likely going to be a long time before I do.

I know Rose would have a field day if she saw me right now. She's always been the first one kicking me in the ass when I start down this road. Right now, I don't really care. I shut my eyes and welcome the numbness.

xxxxxx

I'm waiting for Jake in the usual spot in the morning. He pulls up on his motorcycle, whipping his helmet off and stowing it before sauntering over to me.

"You got laid last night," I say, smiling at him.

"Maybe." He blushes slightly and makes his way to the grass to start stretching.

"So…" I coax him.

"So, what? Do you seriously want me to give you details?"

"Ok, maybe not all the details…" I roll my eyes.

"She's hot. That's all I'm saying." He smirks at me as we finish the stretch and start out for our run. He starts in on me about half way through the 5K.

"Bella, are you happy?"

"Of course I'm happy. What kind of a question is that?"

"You're just alone all the time," he says sympathetically. I so don't need this today, especially from Jake…somebody who knows better than to play the sympathy card with me.

"So, you equate being alone with being unhappy?" I scoff at him. "Trust me; I don't feel the need for a man in my life. I already have you."

He smiles down at me. "You know what I mean. Aren't you lonely? I mean, don't you want to find somebody?"

"I don't know, Jake. I mean, I've been by myself for so long, its hard to imagine somebody else in the mix. Especially with this."

He lets out a huff. "That's one lame excuse, Bella. You deserve to find somebody. I have a couple of buddies at the hospital and…"

"Woah, wait just a minute there, Mr. Love Connection. Has Rose been talking to you? Or Emmett? Why is everybody so obsessed with my love life all of a sudden?"

"Because, we all love you, Bella. We want you to be happy," he says sincerely.

"Just let me worry about it, alright? If I need your help, I'll ask for it."

He sulks beside me as we slow to a walk. "Made good time today," he remarks, eyeing my leg.

"Thanks, it feels good."

"It looks good." He smirks at me and makes his way to his motorcycle, flashing me his signature smile before taking off.

xxxxxx

Rose is pacing in front of my office when I arrive. She yanks her latte out of my hand and pushes me through the door, closing it behind her.

"We have a fucking massive problem," she says seriously.

"We do?" I raise an eyebrow because a massive problem for Rose could be the fact that it's been over twelve hours since her and Emmett have last had sex.

"The airline just backed out of the auction," she says, sinking into the chair.

"What?" I stare back at her. Oh, so Rose isn't actually over-reacting this time. The airline had agreed to donate two five star vacations to Hawaii to the auction. They were two of the major silent auction prizes. I had estimated we'd see over ten thousand dollars for pair of them. "Why? What happened?"

"They've got restructuring or some shit going on over there, and until the dust settles, there's no donations, no giveaways, nothing."

"Rose, where are we going to find something to replace that? The auction's only a month away."

"I told you… massive fucking problem," she says, sighing.

"Ok, what about Emmett?"

"You want me to auction off Em? I don't fucking think so, Bella."

"Not him, crazy. His services. You know, personal training sessions or something."

She furrows her eyebrows. "That's not going to bring in ten grand, Bella, no matter how good he is."

"Oh, what about Mike's restaurant? VIP tickets to the opening? He's getting some band to play."

"Keep going. We're going to need more than that," she says.

I scowl at her, and suddenly her expression changes. "What about Edward?" she asks, raising her eyebrows to me.

"What about him?" I ask, warily.

"He's an artist. A good one. He's sold a ton of stuff. Maybe we could get him to donate something."

"Some little logo is going to bring in ten grand?" I look at her skeptically.

"Bella, I know you live essentially under a rock, but a painting by Edward Cullen is a very hot commodity. The guy's made himself a millionaire multiple times over from his work for God's sake."

"From some stupid paintings?"

"Look him up if you don't believe me." She raises an eyebrow. I fish my laptop out of my bag and fire it up as I see the wheels turning in her head. "This could be really good. Very hip and edgy. It'll attract some different people than we're used to that's for sure." Rose's mind is working overtime with this brainwave.

"And by different you mean…"

"Sophisticated, artsy, indulgent people. People with a lot of money who aren't afraid to throw it around at something like this, because it would make them look good," she says.

I nod my head and login to the network as she waits impatiently. I type his name into the search engine reluctantly, and gasp at the first news result:

_Edward Cullen Original Sells for 1.5 Million at Dealer Auction._ I click on the link and up pops his incredibly sexy face looking like the cat that ate the canary, standing beside some skinny red head who has got her arm draped across his shoulder.

"Holy fuck. I had no idea. Why is he doing boring logos for next to nothing if he's a millionaire artist?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask. I'm just glad we got him to help us," she says.

"Would he donate something to us? I mean that's a lot to ask, and quite frankly, he doesn't seem the giving type."

She smirks at me. "I think he might…if you asked him nicely." She flashes me a wicked smile.

"Oh, no you don't. Do not fucking even go there, Rose. I am not fucking Edward Cullen so we can get a donation."

"Who said anything about fucking him? I just suggested asking him, although if you feel like taking it further than that, I won't hold it against you." She grins at me.

I bury my face in my hands and feel her staring me down.

"Bella, I know you've got your issues with the guy, even though I don't fully understand them, but he clearly likes you. He asked you out yesterday, for God's sake. This could make a real difference to The Foundation. Think about what we could do with this kind of money. All the programs we could fund, all the…"

"Alright, alright! I'll ask him," I bark at her. "But don't hold your breath. You better come up with a plan B."

"He's coming in today to finish up with the design team. Talk to him. We don't have a lot of time here," she says sternly.

"Yeah, yeah." I wave her off and she smiles at me before leaving me sitting, shaking my head.

I so don't want to have to ask this arrogant prick for anything, but Rose is right. This could do a lot for The Foundation. I look back to the computer screen at his perfect, smug face, and hope to hell I'm wrong about him…for more reasons then I care to admit.

* * *

Chapter End Notes:

_**Hmmm, will he or won't he give them a donation?**_

_**Update...soon**_

_**Press review...  
**_


	8. Chapter 8

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Thank you. March 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to my fantastic beta, xrxdanixrx- Have I told you lately that you're awesome?**_

_**For all of you reading and reviewing-thank you! Hope you enjoy and as ever, let me know what you think.**_

_**On with Edward…**_

_**----------------------  
**_

EPOV

Chapter 8

The glorious smell of paint permeates the loft when I wake up. I glance at the alarm clock and groan because I'm late…again. I'm supposed to be at The Foundation to finish up the designs for Rose and her pathetic team of artistic wannabe's. The only thing that's making me not call her to cancel, is the remote possibility of seeing Bella.

I wash away last nights insane painting frenzy under a much needed cold shower. Once I'm dressed, I race out the door, not even bothering to clean up the studio. I know more of the same is coming later tonight, so why bother?

As the elevator doors open at the office, Leanne or Lori's eyes grow wide and she offers me a shy smile. I think she's actually trying to be sexy.

"Good morning, Edward. It's good to see you again." She flips her brown hair behind her shoulder and rakes her eyes up and down my body as if I'm a piece of meat hanging in some butchery ready to be bought and baked. I feel queasy again.

"Is Rosalie here? She's expecting me," I say a little too rudely. Liz seems hurt that I'm not falling all over her, and picks up the phone to ring Rose. I stare at the flowers on the side of the desk and shake my head. Who doesn't like flowers? Apparently, Bella Swan. Is there anything she _does_ like?

"You can go on back. She's waiting." She smiles and watches me as I make my way to the design area.

Bella's office door is shut and I resist the overwhelming temptation to open it and see her again. But after yesterday, I know better than to just barge in on her. Rose is standing with her arms crossed and looking pissed off at the design table when she sees me.

"Thanks for gracing us with your presence, Cullen," she scowls at me.

"I'm sorry. I overslept this morning."

"With who?" she asks without missing a beat.

"Actually…" I start to explain, but she holds her hand up, stopping me.

"You know what? Spare me the sorted details of your pathetic sex life," she says and leaves me sitting there as the young and eager design team stares at me, raring to go.

The team is made up of three extremely attractive women. Normally, I'd welcome their blatant flirting, but all I can do is look down the hallway at Bella's shut door.

As I sit and try to focus on getting this logo done, they engage in shameless attempts to garner my attention. One of them, the blonde, I think her name is Megan or something, actually drops some of the designs on the floor, and then bends over in front of me to pick them up. I'm not turned on in the slightest, and I'm actually beginning to wonder if there is something seriously wrong with me.

Any other time, I would be all over this…literally, especially since there's three of them and that was still on my list of to do's, until the other night when everything I thought I wanted flew out the door the minute I saw Bella. Now, these three just serve to annoy me. Honestly, I could be at the studio right now, not wasting time with tweedle dee and her two side kicks.

A very long and torturous hour later, I see Rose quietly slip into Bella's office, all stealth like. I decide I've had enough of waiting, and announce that I need lunch.

I tell my eager beavers that I'll meet them in the cafeteria, and they race off, giggling like school girls. Of course, it's at this precise moment that Bella has decided to emerge from her office sanctuary. She sees them making a hasty retreat from me, all whispering to each other, and she rolls her eyes.

When she finally looks in my direction, my heart stops beating. Her hair is wavy today and cascades down her back. What is it about women with long hair that makes me want to yank on it, pulling it back while they scream my name? My dick twitches as she makes her way towards me, and I breathe a sigh of relief that there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with me after all.

She's smiling at me…well, ,,it looks like she's trying to smile, but something else is hiding beneath the obviously fake facade she's got up.

"Back for more doodling?" she asks, cocking her head to the side. She moves to the table to survey the designs. "These are really good." She looks up at me in shock.

"I told you, I'm an artist." I'm also completely infatuated with you and would like nothing more than to take you back to my loft and fuck you senseless for the next several hours, days, weeks…you get the picture.

"Ya, about that…" She bites her lip and looks up at me tentatively. Fuck, whatever she wants, I'll give it to her if she'll just keep looking at me like that. I inch towards her and she picks up one of the drawings, running her fingers over it softly. "We have this event coming up."

Holy shit. You have got to be kidding me. She's asking me out? Did I miss the memo that hell had frozen over? I just smirk at her and lean against the drawing table with my arms crossed.

"It's a charity auction to raise money for The Foundation," she says as she fondles the sketch in her hand. She pauses, clearly waiting for me to say something. I stare back at her trying to look like I don't give a damn. "It's at the end of next month, and I was wondering if you'd be willing to donate something. Some of your work, I mean. Rose seems to think it will bring in a lot of money."

My heart falls and I feel like a complete idiot for even thinking she'd want to ask me out after the way I behaved in her office yesterday. "Rose thinks it will bring in a lot of money? What do you think?" I challenge.

"I trust Rose. If she says it will help us, then I believe her."

"But you don't trust me?"

"You've given me no reason to," she says.

"I've also given you no reason not to, Bella."

"Does it really matter what I think?" she asks, looking flustered.

"Yes, actually it does." You have no idea how much it matters.

"Why? Why does it matter so much?"

"I'm always interested in what people think about my work."

"I've never seen any of it, well, other than these. I'm sure it's interesting on some level," she says dismissively. I lock eyes with her. She gives me nothing more than some unreadable emotion as she waits for a response. "Well?" she asks, putting the sketch down.

"I don't do charity auctions, Bella," I say insistently.

"What's that supposed to mean? It's for a good cause." She pouts at me and it's all I can do not to whisk the entire contents off the desk with one swoop and lay her over it.

"The first piece of work that I've done in a year probably shouldn't be debuted along side the likes of random prizes like tickets to the movies, or spa treatments which I'm sure are part of this auction." I know I sound cocky as hell right now, but I also don't really care.

"I knew you wouldn't do this," she taunts me and makes a move to leave. I step in front of her blocking her path.

"I never said I wouldn't do it." She looks up at me through her eyelashes and I lose the ability to breathe. Fuck, this woman makes me crazy.

"You never said you would, either," she says quietly. We stay like that, our eyes locked, her gaze intense and piercing, until she breaks the silence. "Well? I haven't got a lot of time, Edward. Yes or no?"

"If I do this, can I ask something of you?"

"Perhaps you need to look charity up in the dictionary. It means you give, and you don't expect anything in return," she says smirking at me. I take it as a breakthrough. It's the first time she hasn't looked pissed off and like she wants to kill me since I met her.

"Oh, this wouldn't be for me. It would be for you."

"For me?" She looks at me bemused, and I just nod my head slowly. "OK, let's have it," she says.

I lean toward her and place my mouth at her ear. "Let me paint you," I whisper.

"You want to paint me?" She takes a step back and eyes me suspiciously.

"Very much," I admit. Please say yes…fuck, please say yes. I repeat the mantra in my head as if I have the ability to change her mind or something.

"And, if I agree to this, you'll donate something for the auction? Something good?" she asks.

"Everything I do is good, Bella." I smile knowingly. She ponders this for a moment while she studies the patterns on the floor and then looks back up at me.

"I can keep my clothes on right?" she asks innocently, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, of course, but if you want to take them off, I won't object. I've painted plenty of nude women before." I smile smugly at her.

"I bet you have," she says as I see a faint blush make its way to her cheeks. "OK," she whispers.

"OK? Really?"

"Really." She nods her head and brushes past me. "Oh, and, Edward?" She pauses and turns back to me as I gape at her open mouthed.

"Yeah?" My mouth is suddenly dry as I contemplate what I've just agreed to… fuck, what she's just agreed to.

"The auction is in four weeks. Will you be ready?" She's asking like it's a challenge or something.

"I was born ready, Bella." I lift both eyebrows to her. She simply nods her head once, turns on her heel, and disappears back into her office.

I stare after her, trying to fathom what's just happened. I've just agreed to donate an original piece of my work…a piece that people have been waiting for, that isn't even done yet…that Jane could probably get close to a million if not more for. I plunk down in the chair to keep myself from falling, and rest my forehead in my hands.

Oh, why did I agree to this? This was going to be my big comeback and now it's tied up with some granola crunching, tree hugging, charity event. Jane is going to fucking kill me.

But even though I know I'm going to have to deal with the wrath of Jane, as I stare at the closed door to Bella's office, I know exactly why I did this. I can't bear to see her disappointed again. I want her to believe in something again. I want her to believe in me.

I am so fucked.

xxxxxx

I don't see Bella for the rest of the day. She's apparently decided to stay barricaded in her office. I finish with the logo around two o'clock and leave with the phone numbers of the three giggling amigos.

I contemplate stopping to talk to Bella before leaving for the day, but decide against it. We ended our conversation on, what I consider, a good note today, and I don't want to push my luck. Lana is, thankfully, not at her perch when I make my escape out of the office.

I'm back in the studio and standing in front of the canvasses, staring at them. I've got a thousand ideas in my head and I begin to panic, wondering if I'm going to be able to get all of this out and onto them before they leave me altogether.

The buzzing of my cell phone momentarily halts my mini melt down. I put down my pallet and look at the number before answering.

"Back in town for a good lay, Dad?" I ask flatly.

"Edward, it's nice to hear your voice, too." Fuck, Carlisle would pick now to come waltzing back to Vancouver. I wonder what slut has him flying all the way back here this time. Carlisle is a successful lawyer…actually a very successful lawyer. After my mother died from breast cancer when I was nineteen, Carlisle kind of lost it.

He was catatonic for weeks after she died. And then one night, he brought home a girl. And when I say girl, I mean it. She might have been eighteen. The next night, there was a different girl, and his pattern just kept repeating until I was sure he had slept with the majority of the female population of Vancouver by the time I turned twenty.

We never talked about it, cause I guess, that's what guys do. The revolving door to my father's bedroom was my definition of normal, until I graduated from high school and went to Kingston to study art at Queen's University.

We grew apart even more during my four years there. He came to visit a couple of times a year and would inevitably end up with some young student who he would forget about the next morning. I guess you could say that I naturally came by my recent behaviour of fucking everything in sight. He's been in Toronto for the last two years raking in the money from his practice there, and I'm assuming, whoring his way through every woman he can find.

"How long are you in town for?" I ask, staring at the canvas and scowling that he's interrupting me.

"A couple of weeks, Edward. I'm actually on vacation."

"And you chose to come here for that? Why not some exotic tropical place with lots of hot, drunk women? Isn't that more your scene?" I ask skeptically.

"I'm a changed man, Edward. I've met someone."

I burst out laughing. "This is me you're talking to, Dad. You meet someone every night."

"Not any more. I want you to meet her. She's important, Edward."

"Important? Why, because she gives good head?"

"That's enough, son. I know we haven't been on the best of terms lately, but…"

"The fucking best of terms? Are you serious? I haven't laid eyes on you in two Goddamn years, Carlisle. You've been non existent in my life for as long as I can remember."

"I know." Silence takes over the airwaves. "Can you meet us for dinner tomorrow night? We have a lot to talk about," he says, sounding all parental all of a sudden.

"You want me to meet you and your mystery fuck for the time being somewhere?"

"Edward! I came here to spend time with you. So you can meet her. I'm in love with her."

"The only person you're in love with is yourself." I throw my paint brush in the pile and lean back against the wall.

"I probably deserve that, but Edward, you're my son. I want to see you. Please?"

I shake my head because I know this is a bad idea. But something in his voice sounds sincere and he is my father…even though he hasn't exactly acted like it in a long time. Even if he hasn't changed, I can at least get some shit off my chest. As I stare at the blank canvasses in the studio, I suddenly think it's time I met up with Daddy dearest. "Where?"

"We're staying at the Wedgewood," he says. Of course he is. Could he be any more fucking pretentious?

"How elitist of you, Dad."

"Why don't you meet us here, say seven tomorrow? You can bring Angela."

I cringe at her name. "Dad, Angela and I broke up months ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know, Edward."

"No shit." If he had fucking called me, he would have known. Well, actually, I guess that works both ways. I haven't exactly been the son of the year.

'So, tomorrow?" He sounds almost hopeful.

"I'll try to be there," I say and he exhales.

"Thank you, Edward." I hang up before he can say anything else. I toss the phone back onto the desk and stare at the canvasses. His call has me shaken. Why did he have to mention Angela? As I stand here and try to refocus, I'm having a hard time sorting out what I want to paint next. I rake my hands through my hair and realize that I need to see Bella. I need to feel the burn of the flame again. It feels like its slowly dying out, like its going to disappear, and I'm going to be left with the meager beginnings of an unfinished masterpiece.

I take the stairs down to the first floor and grab my keys. It's a bit late, but I may still catch her at work. I have a feeling that she works a lot. I mean, there's no boyfriend. She doesn't date, she said so herself, unless, of course, that Mike guy from the cafeteria has made a move. Something tells me that she'd turn him down, and right now, I hope to hell I'm right.

I peel out of the garage in my Audi and make my way back down to her office. Thankfully, the traffic isn't too bad. I pull into the parking lot beside the building. It's a bit dark as I'm making my way around the corner towards the front door. I feel my heart start to race at the mere anticipation of seeing her again. The front door opens, and I'm greeted with the welcome sight of flowing dark hair. Her back is to me and it looks like she's fumbling with the door.

As I near her, I ready the panty dropping stare and try at the same time, to at least appear like I'm a normal person, rather than the slightly stalkerish addict I seem to have turned into.

My carefully constructed act falls apart as soon as I reach the door and she turns her head and spots me. "Edward, how interesting to see you here," she purrs.

My face falls as I stare into the eyes of my fucked up recent past that has come back to bite me in the ass.

* * *

Chapter End Notes

**_Uh, Oh…what has he gotten himself into now?_**

**_BPOV coming up soon._**

**_Thanks as always for reading._**

**_Press review.  
_**


	9. Chapter 9

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. March 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to my wonderful beta, xrxdanixrx.**_

_**For all of you reading and reviewing-thank you! Hope you enjoy and as ever, let me know what you think.**_

On with Bella…

* * *

BPOV

Chapter 9

"He's going to do it," I breathe as I shut the door and lean against it.

Rosalie's eyes look as if they are going to pop out of her head. "Are you fucking serious?" She jumps up from the chair in the corner of my office and whips me into a hug. "You're a genius." She smiles at me.

"You're the one who thought of it, Rose." I push back from her and take a much needed seat at my desk.

"What's the problem? I recognize that look. Did he piss you off again?" she asks, crossing her arms.

"No, he wants to paint me," I explain, grimacing at her.

"He wants to paint you?" She furrows her eyebrows at me.

"Yeah, he'll do the painting for the auction, if he gets to paint me."

"And you're doing it, right?"

"Yes, Rose, I'm doing it. But only because it's for you, and The Foundation." She claps her hands together and I don't remember Rosalie being this excited…ever. It's rather frightening.

"Oh my God! We have to tell Alice! She can write about it in her column. Oh, think of the press, the donations. This is going to be awesome!"

"Oh, good Lord, I've created a monster," I mutter, resting my forehead in my hands as she yanks the door open and disappears down the hall in a whirlwind.

Once Rose is gone, I bang my head repeatedly off the desk. I don't know how I'm going to get through this. How long does it take to paint someone? I imagine this isn't something that's done in twenty minutes, which means, I'm going to have to spend extended amounts of time....alone...in Edward's studio, or where-ever it is he paints. The thought is simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.

What the fuck? I'm excited about this? I try to push the thought of being under Edward's intensely seductive gaze for God knows how long out of my head, and focus on the budget for the auction.

It's dark outside when I finally decide to emerge from my office. Rosalie disappeared an hour ago to start 'power planning' with Alice. I feigned needing to finalize budgetary numbers to get out of the insanity that seems to occur whenever they get together to plan one of these. I pack my laptop and head down the stairs, welcoming the cool evening air as I take the short walk back to my house.

I've been trying all afternoon to get Edward out of my head, but it's impossible. No amount of pie charts or pivot tables seem to help. All I can think about is the way he looked at me…all intense and brooding and cocky as hell.

He had the chance to ask me out, but instead he wants to paint me…maybe he's lost interest…moved on. I'm guessing someone like Edward doesn't go without a woman for long. Still, the thought of being alone with him is, I finally have to admit, extremely exciting. I smile to myself.

As I push the door open from the office, a high pitched giggle spurs me from my daydream. I see the outline of a woman who appears to be fondling over a man in the darkened corner of the building.

It's really hard to see them, but it looks like she has him pinned against the wall of the building, and is all over him. I smirk and pick up the pace as I get closer to them. I thank God its dark and I can't see their faces. I feel mine flush as she goes down to her knees. Thank the Lord the street lights haven't switched on yet, or I would be able to see exactly what she's about to do.

I'm closing in on them, and I hear a vaguely familiar female voice. "Let me take care of you, just like you did yesterday." She sounds kind of desperate, like she's trying to convince him or something. Wait a minute…it sort of sounds like Lauren. What the hell? Since when is Lauren giving blow jobs to random guys along side the office building? My eyes are fixated on her shadow. I've got to be wrong.

And then panic hits as I see this woman fumbling with the guy's jeans and reach her hand in. Oh, fuck. She's going to actually do this in public. I can't stop staring at her. The only thing keeping me from breaking into a run is the laptop bag, which feels as though it suddenly weighs a hundred pounds or something.

"Lisa, don't," the guy chokes out, although to be honest, he doesn't sound too convincing. I'm also aware, that despite the fact that his voice is raspy and breathless, it is also somewhat familiar. I breathe a sigh of relief that at least it's not Lauren out here making an absolute fool of herself.

The buzz of the streetlight echoes beside the building and then illuminates their bodies. It might as well be a neon sign flashing arrows at them as I finally slide my eyes from her crouched figure, up to his face.

I take an audible gasp in when I see the man that has invaded my thoughts for most of the day. You have got to be fucking kidding me.

His eyes flash open upon hearing my gasp, and I stop dead in my tracks under the glow of the street light.

He looks panic stricken, or maybe this is just how he looks when he's just fucking horny as hell. My eyes dart back down to the woman, whose hands have now found purchase in his pants, and I swallow back the vomit that rises in my throat.

Lauren's eyes meet mine, wide and horrified as she jerks back from him, standing up abruptly.

"Oh, God!" she shrieks, turning away from me, and picking up her purse from the ground.

I realize I'm still standing there…just staring at him as he looks back at me with his mouth gaping open. I shake my head quickly and start walking again. How I'm standing upright at this moment is a fucking miracle, and I thank Jake for the countless hours he's spent making sure I never loose my footing.

I concentrate on the ground in front of me as I pick up the pace. The pavement blurs as I take the corner for home, my breathing rapid. The laptop bag is a fucking three thousand pound weight, and I fight with the sudden urge to hurl it to the ground so I can move faster.

"Bella!" Fucking prick. He's following me now. I wipe the tears from my eyes and resolve that I will not shed another one for this asshole. Damn it, why can't he just leave me alone?

I stop in front of my house and turn around to face him. Mercifully, the tears have stopped, and the stare I give him should fucking turn him to stone.

He stops a few feet in front of me, panting. "It's not what it looked like," he breathes, raking his fingers through his hair.

"What or who you choose to do on your free time is none of my concern, Edward," I say, reaching into my bag to find my keys.

"Please, Bella, hear me out. I came back to see you."

"It seems you have me mistaken for the other brunette in the office. I'm sure it happens to you all the time. We're all fairly interchangeable, aren't we?" Where the fuck are my keys….

"Bella, she came onto me, I-"

"Edward, you don't owe me an explanation."

He grabs my arm roughly and jerks it towards him, throwing me off balance slightly. "Please let me explain," he says with a shaky voice.

"Get your hands off me!" I raise my voice and he drops my arm as I right myself before falling flat on my face.

"I'm sorry. Please give me a chance to tell you…" His voice trails as he stares at me. He actually looks…I don't know…worried, sad, sorry? Yeah, sorry he got caught.

"It's irrelevant. You are irrelevant," I hiss as I finally find my keys. I take the two steps up to the porch and prop the screen door open with my hip as I fumble with the keys. My hands are actually shaking and I feel the tears threatening. Oh, why does he have this affect on me?

"Bella, just listen. That's all I'm asking."

"It's none of my business, Edward." The key, thankfully finds its way into the lock, and I turn the knob thrusting the door open.

His hand is on my shoulder as I rid myself of my laptop bag and whirl back to him.

"Bella, wait. You need to hear me out." He sounds desperate, pleading, as he holds the screen door open.

"I don't _need_ to do anything, Edward. You're nothing to me, so why do you even care what I think? You're free to do whatever you want. If I were you, I'd go back to Lauren…that's her name by the way. Not Lisa…Lauren. How could you just leave her there? I don't deserve an explanation from you, but she sure as hell does." He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath as I close the inner door and lock it.

I lean my back against the door and close my eyes listening for something… anything. An immeasurable period of time passes until I hear the faint creak of the screen door, and his footfalls as they descend off the porch and into the night.

As the air becomes silent, I open the door and peek out. He's hunched over, his head down, his hands shoved into his pockets as he slinks back down the street.

I suddenly feel sorry for him. What? No, wait, I can't feel sorry for Edward Cullen. The guy is a prick. I don't know why I even care. He's free to do whatever he wants. If it's not Lauren, it will be somebody else tonight. I shut the door and make my way to the kitchen in the hopes to find some left over wine. I don't know what I'm thinking…there would never be left over wine in my house. I've never had left over wine in my life. Who would be stupid enough to leave any wine left in a bottle?

I yank open the fridge and find two Creemore Springs beers from Emmett and Rose's last visit. I cringe. I hate beer. I slam the fridge door shut and wander into the bedroom to get changed.

As I'm pulling on my lounging-around-feeling-sorry-for-myself yoga pants, my eyes fall to the box of goodies brimming on my lower shelf.

OK, so it's been a while. I actually have to wipe the dust off the box before opening it. Half of these little treasures are still wrapped up nicely in their pretty little packages.

I take out good ole reliable, and lay down on the bed. After what seems like a lifetime, it becomes all too obvious that this is just not doing it for me. I've tried to imagine every possible man that I've ever found even remotely attractive. I drop my now less than reliable friend onto the bed, and decide to take matters into my own hands.

I shut my eyes and immediately, before I even have a chance to push it away, its Edward's face above me. I squeeze my eyes closer together as my body arches off the bed involuntarily, and I succumb to this fucked up fantasy.

His fingers graze up under my t-shirt and find my nipple as he pulls and twists. "Is this what you want, Bella?" I'm reduced to merely groaning as his hand travels down to my stomach, needing the taunt flesh. He drifts further down between my folds and circles my clit. He works slowly, taking his time as he consumes me, tortures me, for what seems like hours, but is still not long enough.

"Come for me, Bella. You know you want to," he whispers as he adds a second finger and curls them, bringing me closer to the edge until I am panting with need.

"Edward." My voice sounds like someone else's, and its mere seconds before the room is actually spinning and I crash down.

"No one will ever make you feel like this," he says...and then he's gone.

I sink into the pillow and throw my arm over my eyes. I'm equally satisfied and disgusted with myself. The best orgasm I've had in months comes-quite literally- courtesy of Edward Cullen, and he's not even in the room. I stare up at the ceiling and shake my head.

The phone buzzes beside the bed and I roll over to get it, looking at the number before answering. "Hey, Alice."

"Bella! Rose told me about Edward. Is he really going to donate something for the auction?" she asks excitedly.

"So he says." I roll my eyes and sit up in the bed, scowling at the box of goodies on the floor.

"Oh my God! This is massive! I have to do an interview with him. Bella, this is going to be so good for The Foundation!" She sounds more excited than Rose did.

"Rose says it will bring in a lot of money," I say as I make my way with my disappointing friend into the bathroom to wash it off.

"This could be huge, Bella," Alice says. I shake my head and put the goody back into the box, shoving it into the closet with my foot. "Oh, wait, you can take Edward to the auction. This is perfect!" I'm fairly certain I hear her clapping her hands together.

"I don't think so, Alice. That's definitely not happening."

"Why not? Rose said he asked you out and that he's painting you. He likes you."

"Edward doesn't like anyone but himself," I say, moving into the living room.

"Wait a minute. Did something else happen with Edward, Bella?"

"No, nothing happened. I'm just not interested, Alice, and neither is he."

"I'm coming over there," she threatens.

"No, don't, I just…" But it's too late as I hear the dial tone and groan. I sink into the couch and stare out the patio doors into the night, trying not to think about just how pathetic my life is right now.

The house is so quiet, it's actually painful. I don't even own a pet to keep me company. I flip through the latest edition of Vancouver Magazine as I wait for Alice, wondering if I should get a dog or a cat, maybe a fish to start with.

I'm not left waiting long she does just live down the street, before her familiar knock comes through the door. She opens it and comes in, scanning the room before her eyes fall onto mine.

She shakes her head and holds up a bottle of Summerhill Gewurztraminer

white wine, and a large Toblerone bar. "Are we having a 'let's get drunk so we forget all about him' night, or an 'I just want chocolate because my life is oh so horrible' night?" She plops down beside me and smiles.

"A bit of both I think," I say, swiping the wine and getting up to move to the kitchen.

She follows me and sits on one of the stools at the counter. "So, let's have it," she says, looking at me eagerly. I fill up two wine glasses and tell her about tonight's little encounter. Her eyes grow wide as she stares at me in disbelief. "So, she was just going to go down on him right there beside the office building?"

"Yep," I say, downing my wine and opening the Toblerone.

"Wow! That takes some balls."

"You're telling me. I almost saw those balls for God's sake." She smirks at me and starts laughing.

"Bella, he likes you. Despite what you saw tonight, he came after you. Doesn't that tell you anything?"

"It tells me he's sorry he got caught," I answer as I proceed to take a knife roughly to the Toblerone.

"Hey, that chocolate didn't do anything to you." Alice laughs and pushes me to the side, taking over.

I sit down at the counter and stare back at her. "What am I going to do, Alice? He's supposed to paint me, and I don't even think I can look at him right now."

She hands me a piece of chocolate which I devour eagerly. "Well, first, you need to admit you like him, Bella." I scowl at her and she issues me a knowing look. "This is me you're talking to. You wouldn't be this upset if you didn't really like him."

"He's so, so wrong for me," I say, burying my face in my hands.

"Maybe he's not. Maybe, Edward is just as lost as you are. Don't you think you should find out? I mean, Bella, this is the first time someone has had this affect on you since the accident. What does that tell you?"

"That I need to get laid. Desperately."

She laughs and hands me another piece of chocolate. "So, why not ask out Mike, or Jake, or just some random guy, then, if that's all you're looking for?" She smirks at me and stands with her hand on her hip. She knows me too well.

"Because, I don't just want to get laid," I admit begrudgingly.

She nods her head. "Yes, and?"

"I like Edward," I mutter under my breath.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that," she says as she smirks and holds out another piece of chocolate to me. I try to swipe it from her, but she pulls it out of my reach. "You were saying?"

"I like Edward, alright? Are you happy?"

She smiles and hands me over the chocolate. "Yes, very." She takes a long sip of wine, and then gets a determined look on her face. Oh, no. Dear God, she's hatching a plan.

"You're scaring me, Alice," I say, taking a sip of wine. "I'm not guaranteeing you that I'll do everything that's floating around in your head right now. We're not in high school any more, and quite honestly, I don't think I have the patience."

She smiles devilishly at me. "Is there a date set for this painting he's doing of you?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

I shake my head at her. "No, but I'm not even sure that I'm going to…" She holds up her hand, stopping my weak objection.

"For once in your life, Bella, just listen. That's all I'm asking." She looks at me sternly, and I nod my head because, it's just not worth arguing with her, but more importantly, if I'm being honest, I could really use the help. She twirls her wine glass in her hand, and then unveils the master plan.

* * *

Chapter End Notes

_**Next…oh, no…what has Edward done with himself after this fiasco?**_

_**Thanks for reading. Now press review. Update is on the way.**_


	10. Chapter 10

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. March 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to my extremely talented beta, xrxdanixrx-who's also provided awesome banner on Twilighted! Check out her stories Hate Me, Here We Go Again and Don't Try To Save Me. Is there nothing you can't do? You rock hun!**_

Well...I wanted a reaction and I got one :) Some of you wanted to hang Edward after the last chapter, and kill Alice for her master plan. Edward has some seriously deep rooted problems, and has only thought about himself for too long. Sometimes, you have to hit rock bottom before you can start your way back. Let's not forget, Edward was terribly hurt in his last relationship, and has a less than stellar role model in Carlisle. What he feels for Bella is powerful and he's only been able to get his feelings out through his painting as she refuses to let him explain himself. They both have a lot of work to do, lets see what's next for these two, shall we?

_**Hope you enjoy and as ever, let me know what you think.**_

-------------------

EPOV

Chapter 10

Fuck, karma is a bitch. This is payback. Payback for all the women I've fucked and never called again. For all the women whose names I didn't even remember or bother to get. For all the times I've been a jackass.

I can only remember feeling this horrible about my pathetic excuse of a love life one other time. Then, it was Angela who was fucking around, this time, it's me. And I'm not even technically fucking around, so why does it seem like I am? Like she said, I'm nothing to her. Why do I care what she thinks? Why can't I seem to get her out of my head?

I told her the truth tonight. I went back to see her, to try to pick a day that she wanted to do the painting. And then Lauren…yes, that's her name…Lauren, was coming out of the building, pushing my buttons when I just wanted to see Bella. And I probably let her go on for longer than I should have. But, as she pushed me up against the wall, I was limp…again. Part of me wanted to see if I could actually ever be hard without thinking about Bella. The answer is a resounding no.

As I slink my way back to my car, I wonder if I should go to see if Lauren is still there. That was pretty shitty, even for me. The girl was on her knees for fucks sake, and I just left her there without a single word. I know I need to apologize to her. I round the corner and scan the building, but she's gone.

The familiar burst of adrenaline that accompanies me any time I'm in Bella's presence is back in full force. The blood courses through my veins relentlessly, and I know the only way I'm going to release this pent up frustration, is to get back to the studio.

I don't remember driving back to the loft or what route I took to get here. I only know that right now, I'm standing in front of canvas number five. It's smaller than the others and actually looks fragile, delicate, like if I make one brush stroke too hard, the whole thing will fall apart in front of me.

I don't remember plugging my iPod into the docking station, but Vivaldi's _Summer _pours out to me. The colour choices are less vibrant, more somber, as I poor every ounce of my regret, my sorrow, my mistakes into this. A dark grey jagged mass surrounded by weakening splashes of muted colour, fading off the frame and out of my life.

This one takes less time. A mere two hours later, I drop my brush to the floor and dip my smaller brush robotically into the black paint. I feel an unfamiliar wetness on my cheeks, and I pause as the canvas blurs momentarily in front of me.

I paint my initials in the corner. They don't even look like mine. Nothing is the same as I grip the brush in my hand and take the walk of shame to my empty bed.

The rain is pounding down relentlessly when I roll my sorry self out of bed in the morning. The droplets smear off the windows and blur the otherwise stellar view of Vancouver harbour. The brush that seems to have been my companion in bed last night has rolled onto the floor where paint now stains the hardwood.

I feel like I'm hung over. I'm appalled at the pathetic reflection in front of me as I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, gripping the sink. I couldn't look like more of a sorry fuck if I tried. I stand in the shower, turning it on full blast, but not even bothering to let it warm before I get in. It's scalding me in about a minute, and I simply can't even bring myself to care. My skin is beat red when I emerge from the shower stall. The bathroom is filled with steam as I stand naked and dripping onto the ceramic tile, and try to contemplate what the fuck I'm going to do.

I'm fully aware that I've probably lost any chance I ever had with Bella...if there even was a remote possibility. Still, I'm also aware that this fucked up fiasco has led to the best work I've ever done in my life. I feel guilty and proud of myself in equal measure, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach that the more I screw up, the better I seem to paint.

The canvas from last night has dried and I cover it up, moving to commence the methodic clean up process. Once things are as good as they can be, I decide to make myself some coffee. I'm sure there's instant around here somewhere. I think I remember Jane bringing it over at some point. She is always in a hurry in the morning…not that I'm complaining. Getting her out of the loft is always something I try to do as quickly as possible. My stomach rolls as I think about how pathetic I really am.

I find the instant shit in the back corner of one of my cupboards and plug the kettle in. I know I'm going nowhere today. There's a full day of painting calling my name.

A knock at the door stirs me away from watching the fascinating kettle. I pull the door open as Jane stands there in a full length red trench coat, a patented Burberry umbrella hoisted over her head. She's not impressed.

I simply turn away from her and walk back into the kitchen, leaving the door open. I hear her shut the door and deposit the umbrella on the floor. The click of her high heels over the hardwood is doing nothing for my mood.

"To what do I owe the pleasure this morning, Jane? I'm busy."

"Are you painting in just a towel these days?" She cocks her head to the side and stares back at me. I'm only now aware that I haven't even gotten dressed this morning. The white towel is hanging on by a literal thread off my hips.

"I just got out of the shower," I answer, filling my cup with water and stirring the nasty instant coffee.

"You look like shit, Edward," she acknowledges.

"You're not exactly the picture of beauty yourself, Jane." I leave the spoon on the counter and turn back to her. "Why are you here?"

"You owe me an update," she says, trying to stare me down.

"I don't owe you anything, Jane. I told you I'd call you when I'm ready. I'm not ready."

"You've been painting. I can smell it," she says, staring up the stairs towards the studio. She's only got one foot on the stairs before my hand is on her arm roughly pulling her back.

"You know better than to go up there, Jane." I issue her a warning and she backs off the stair.

"At least I know you're painting. That's something, I guess. Any idea on when it's going to be ready?" she asks. Jesus, she's more pushy than normal today.

"I don't know." I turn and walk back to sit on one of the stools at the counter.

"You seem tense. Trouble in paradise with the Misses?" she asks sarcastically, moving to sit beside me at the counter. I take a sip of coffee and it tastes like shit. I scowl and try to ignore her. "Edward, this mood is doing nothing for you. Let me help." She puts her hand on my thigh, moving the towel slightly as she digs her fake nails into my skin.

"Jane, give it a rest." I glare at her, but she's not backing down.

"Edward, I know what you like, what you need," she whispers into my ear. "I know you like it rough sometimes, is she not into that?"

"Jane, you need to stop," I snarl.

"Come on, baby." Her hand finds my flaccid dick and she sits back staring at me, her eyes wide. "Oh, Edward, you really_ are_ having a problem. Since when is the great Edward Cullen not hard?"

I push back from the counter and stand up, marching to the door and hauling it open.

"Thanks for stopping by, Jane. I'll let you know once I'm ready."

She saunters towards me, sashaying her hips, and staring at me like she's some kind of lioness on the prowl. Apparently, that's supposed to turn me on. "Hmm, I could make you ready if you just let me, Edward." She runs her hand down my exposed torso.

"Goodbye, Jane."

"I'll call you soon," she purrs. She pats me on the cheek and grabs her umbrella, pushing it up and disappearing down the street.

I slam the door and make my way back to the counter. I pour the coffee down the sink and lean over it, trying not to vomit.

Several minutes go by before I make my way up to the studio. I lean in the doorway and stare at the frames before me. Emotion comes pouring out of me as I grab my palette and move to the tubes of paint. They're no longer crisp like they were just a few short days ago. Now, they're worn and I'm almost out of a few colours. I shake my head at how out of it I've been. I'll have to make a trip to the supply store before I get going.

I start to make my way upstairs to get dressed when another knock comes through the door.

Oh fuck, she's back, and now I'm officially pissed off.

I launch to the door and haul it open. "For fucks sake, Jane! Can you not take a fucking hint?!" My heart stops beating, and my mouth hangs open as realization hits. My eyes slide down and meet hers. She looks shocked, angry, annoyed, perhaps slightly turned on…ok, that's probably more me than her.

She crosses her arms and cocks her head to the side.

"Bella," I breathe. Fuck, what is she doing here? I suddenly realize I'm just standing, holding the door, practically naked, staring with my mouth open as the rain pours down in sheets, drenching her. She's completely soaked as she stares back at me with the cool expression I've come to know, and if I'm being honest, crave.

"Come in, get out of the rain!" I grab her arm and yank her inside. She takes a step in eyeing me suspiciously, and whips her arm from my grasp.

"Expecting company this morning, Edward?" she asks, raising an eyebrow to me.

"I just got out of the shower," I try to explain.

"With Jane? Was that actually her name?" She glares at me and I deserve it.

"Yes, that's actually her name, and no, if you must know, I wasn't having a shower with her." I smirk and she bites down on her bottom lip as her expression softens slightly. "Oh, you're soaked! I should get you a towel," I say.

"Preferably not the one you're wearing." She smiles at me. Wait, she's smiling at me? What the fuck? I'm never going to understand this woman. Last night, she's telling me I'm irrelevant, now she's standing in my foyer. Oh shit! She's still standing here, and I'm in a towel, which is barely hiding my sudden erection.

"I'll be right back. Make yourself at home." I hold the towel at my waist and take the stairs two at a time to the loft. I fumble around in my closet until I find a pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt, and throw them on. I run my fingers through my hair, and then take a few desperately needed cleansing breaths before retrieving a fresh towel and bolting out of the bathroom.

I descend to the studio and take a loud gasp in because she's standing in front of the first canvas, and she's got the fucking muslin lifted half way off of it.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I seethe at her, and she drops the muslin immediately and turns to me.

"This is really good, Edward," she says sincerely, but I'm so fucking mad right now, I can't even think straight.

My heart is beating through my chest as I cross the room to canvas. She stands beside me, watching intently, as I methodically fix the muslin so it's covering the canvas properly, before I snap and unleash on her.

"I know that this probably seems like some fucking kind of joke to you, but no one, and I mean no one, gets to see my work until its finished. How dare you fucking walk into my studio and fucking touch a Goddamn thing!" I scream at her, and she recoils, her eyes brimming with tears. She looks like she's genuinely afraid of me. Oh, I'm so fucked.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I didn't realize. I shouldn't have done that," she whispers. She's horrified. So am I. Why am I such an idiot? She turns and bolts for the stairs trying to take them quickly.

"Bella, wait. I'm sorry, it's just, I'm…" And fuck, she's not even waiting for me.

"Fucking hell, Bella. Wait!" When I reach her, she's at the second last stair. I pull on her arm, and she jerks it from me, twisting her body and stumbling forward, falling in a heap onto the hardwood floor.

"Goddamn it!" I yell as I crouch down beside her. She's shaking like a leaf, her hair a veil in front of her face as I hear her sob. "Bella, are you alright?" I wrap my arms around her shoulders, and pull her into my chest. Fuck, she feels so perfect. My dick is straining in my jeans as she wails into my shirt.

"Bella, baby, please look at me. I need to know if you're alright. You're scaring the shit out of me." I pull back reluctantly from her and brush her hair away from her face. Her eyes are clenched shut as tears stream down her cheeks.

"Bella, please. Does something hurt? Is…is your leg ok?" I cup her face between my hands, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to kiss her right now.

She shakes her head and finally opens her eyes to me. Holy fuck, I can't breathe. "I'm alright. I'm more embarrassed than anything. I never fall, ever," she says, staring back at me.

"It was my fault, I shouldn't have yelled at you, and I shouldn't have grabbed your arm," I say. Fuck, I'm an idiot, and she's just staring up at me with her massive brown eyes that are now red rimmed from crying…crying that I've caused. I feel nauseous.

"It's not your fault, Edward. If I had two real legs, I wouldn't have fallen." Is she actually arguing with me about this? The woman's stubbornness knows no bounds.

"And if I wasn't such a fucking ass, you wouldn't have fallen either." I rub my thumb across her cheek, and she closes her eyes. "Do you want to try to get up? I mean, I can help you if you want," I offer.

She nods her head, and I wrap my arm around her waist, lifting her with me, which is easy as hell because she probably only weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet…which she practically is. I keep my arm around her waist and look down at her. She shifts away from me slightly and tries to steady herself.

"Just hang on to me. I won't let you go." Ever. She takes a shaky breath in, and then a step towards the living room. I follow closely, keeping my arm around her waist as she makes her way to the black leather couch.

"I'm ok. It's alright," she says with a shaky breath.

"Are you sure?" Fuck, is it wrong for me to want it_ not_ to be ok just so I can keep touching her?

She nods her head and twists her body away from me, sitting down on the couch. I stand beside her and watch in complete fascination as she slowly rolls up her pant leg, and removes the artificial limb, resting it on the cushion beside her. She examines her thigh closely and then turns her attention to the leg. She sighs and then looks up at me.

"It's ok. Everything is fine." She looks relieved, and I let out the breath I've been holding since she sat down.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I need to explain…a lot of things, actually," I say as I try to formulate some semblance of a coherent explanation of the erratic behaviour that she's witnessed from me in the last few days.

"No, you don't, Edward. I shouldn't have come here, and I certainly shouldn't have been in your studio without asking you." She sounds sad. No! You should be here. This is exactly where you should be.

"Why did you come here?" I ask as I sit on the arm of the couch.

"I thought it would be a good idea to get the painting done sooner rather than later," she says, staring up at me.

"Oh. You wanted me to paint you today?" I ask, slightly amused because she has no idea how this works.

She nods her head innocently at me. "Is that a problem?" she asks as she slowly rubs circles over her thigh. Holy fuck, let me do that.

"I'm not exactly ready to paint you yet, Bella," I say as I watch her massage her thigh.

"You're not ready? You have a ton of painting stuff up there." She points up the stairs and looks at me skeptically.

"I don't have what I need for you. And I have to be in a certain frame of mind to do it," I say, smirking at her. My eyes fall to the leg that's sitting on the cushion beside her, and I tilt my head to the side to try to get a better look.

She picks it up and hands it up to me. "Just get it over with, Edward."

"Bella, I…that's not…just…fuck," I stammer, sounding like a complete idiot. But, I really, really want to touch it because this is such a big part of her. I want to understand this. I don't want her to think I can't understand it.

"It's ok. I mean, you're going to be painting me and everything, and this is a big part of who I am." She raises her eyebrows to me like she's issuing me a challenge. Does she think I won't do it? Does she really want me to? Do I really want to? Fuck, I know the answer. I want to touch it and her more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life. But, I also feel like this is a test or something. Like if I do the wrong thing right now, it's going to screw everything up. Like it's not already screwed up? Fuck, she's so confusing. My heart starts beating faster as she continues to stare at me, her eyes dark, her head cocked slightly to the side.

I look back at her, and her expression softens slightly. She wets her bottom lip before bringing it into her mouth, and biting down. My eyes never leave hers as I place my hands delicately under the leg, and lift it from her.

* * *

Chapter End Notes

**Vivaldi Summer Movement Three. Pure genius:www(dot)youtube(dot)/watch?v=i-7GXPDVSWY**

**Up next, Bella's view of the world.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing.**

**Update soon.**


	11. Chapter 11

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. March 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to my extremely talented beta, xrxdanixrx-who's also provided awesome banner on Twilighted! You are amazing!**_

_**Thanks to all those reading, reviewing, and recommending. I'm glad you're enjoyed Towelward! As ever, let me know what you think. **_

_**Let's check in with Bella shall we…**_

_**---------------------------  
**_

Chapter 11

BPOV

Fucking Alice and her master plan to come and confront Edward, and quote 'mess with his head,' has left me embarrassed beyond belief, and probably with a massive bruise on my hip where I impacted with his hardwood floor in the least graceful exit attempt ever. But then, Edward is actually genuinely concerned. At least, I think he is, but that could all just be part of his act.

My heart is still beating a mile a minute as he lifts the prosthetic from my hands, as if it's something delicate that belongs in museum. He turns it over, his brow furrows as he examines it closely. This is new territory for me. The only people who have touched my prosthetic this much are Jake, my surgeon, and Renee. His touch is delicate as he brushes his long fingers over it, almost reverently.

"It's beautiful, Bella," he whispers. He looks over at me, his eyes wide before going back to his in-depth inspection.

No one has ever called my artificial limb beautiful before and I'm not sure if I should be flattered or slightly offended. I choose the former, because right now, I can't exactly get up and stomp out on him without a tremendous amount of difficulty.

So, I'm left to sit here, on his expensive Italian leather couch, and watch his fingers as they caress the silicone, gliding down the front of the leg and then back up the calf. "It's so real," he marvels.

"Sometimes, I wish it was," I say, staring up at him. His eyes dart back to me and he looks anxious.

No! Don't be anxious.

Despite everything, I don't want him to freak out on me right now.

"I'm sorry, you probably want this back, huh?" he asks. He lifts the leg back to me gently and I take it from him, adjusting the shoe before slipping it back on.

"Is that the only one you have?" he asks as he gets up to retrieve the towel, which landed beside me on the floor. No one has ever asked me this before. No man has ever stuck around long enough to ask or find out the answer. Ok, if I'm being honest, I haven't exactly let anyone stay around long enough, either.

I feel light headed as I watch him return to the couch and sit beside me, handing me the towel. I think the towel is for my rain soaked hair, but right now, I could care less about it.

"I have four different ones. I have one when I want to wear these heels." I flex my real leg out and twist my ankle, showing him the pumps that Alice and Rose made me buy. He stares at my leg and bites down on his lip before looking back at me. "I have another one for casual shoes, one for swimming and showering, and another for running. They're also in the process of making me one for skiing."

"Skiing?" he asks. He looks at me warily, and I squeeze some excess rain from my hair into the towel.

"Yeah. Emmett wants us to go back to Revelstoke next January. It'll be six years since the accident." Jesus, his stare is distracting. He appears enthralled by what I'm saying, and I feel my face flush. I wonder how long it's taken him to perfect the stare. How many women he's used it on. I'm certain someone as hot as Edward has had a lot of women. I scowl at the meager number of inexperienced men I've had the unfortunate luck to sleep with before the accident.

"Is that…I mean, do you really want to go back there?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah, I do. I haven't been back since it happened. Emmett says it'll be good to kick the mountain in the ass, and I enjoy a challenge."

He chuckles and runs his fingers through his hair. "That sounds like Emmett, and like you," he says softly.

"I'm sorry about invading your studio, Edward. I didn't realize. I wasn't thinking. Your work is really very good. Well, what I saw of it anyway." I twist my fingers nervously in my lap and stare up at him.

I try to remember Alice and her grand plan…that I'm supposed to mix up the signals, play it cool, come on to him, and then act as if I could give a damn before I confront him about the whole Lauren situation. She used so many different descriptions, but right now, I don't really care about Alice. I feel horrible about what happened in the studio.

"It's ok. I'm a bit of a freak about my work. It's one of my many flaws. I'm sorry I made you fall," he says quietly. He stares down at me, all intense and entrancing, and I find it really hard to remember why I was so pissed off at him less than ten minutes ago.

"Well, I should probably go. Do you want to pick a time for the painting? I'm sure you want to get it over with, if you even still want to do it," I say, looking up at him.

"Of course I still want to do it, Bella." I'm actually relieved to hear him say it. I push myself up and he rises off the couch with me, placing his hand under my elbow.

"I'm ok, Edward. You don't need to help me," I say sourly. He drops his hand from me and looks hurt. "I'm sorry, I know I'm being a bitch. Accepting help isn't something I do well."

He laughs quietly. "Really? I hadn't noticed," he says sarcastically.

I smile. Despite everything that's happened, he's treating me like a normal person. Not trying to sugar coat anything. Calling me out when I clearly deserve it. "So, what works then for the painting?" I ask.

"Hmm." He strokes his chin with his long index finger. "Are you free on Sunday?" he asks, staring down at me with a blistering gaze. Sunday? Oh of course, he would have to pick the day I have plans.

"Actually, Sunday is a little busy." His face falls. "With Rose and Emmett," I clarify, though why I feel the need to, I'm not really sure. "We do dinner once a week with friends of ours." He nods and shifts beside me and looks nervous. What? Nervous? I don't think Edward Cullen has been nervous a day in his life. And then Alice's master plan comes back to me and I take a step towards him.

"Maybe you'd like to join us? You can meet Alice. She wants to interview you for a story about the auction."

"I don't do interviews, Bella," he says firmly, turning from me and walking into the kitchen. And Mr. I'm-Better-Than-Anyone-Else-Because-I'm-A-Moody-Artist is back in full force.

"What does that even mean? Alice works for Vancouver Magazine. They have a ton of readers. This could be good publicity for you," I explain, following him into the kitchen. Ow! Shit, my hip hurts. I can only imagine the bruise I'm going to have later today. I falter slightly and then steady myself as he makes his way to the refrigerator.

"I don't need publicity, Bella. My work speaks for itself," he says. Oh, he's so full of himself. He pulls open the refrigerator and stares into it blankly.

"No one will know about your work if you don't tell them it's coming, Edward," I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

He stares back at me, waging some internal debate it seems. "This Alice…is she a good journalist?" he asks, closing the door to the fridge and leaning on the counter towards me.

"She's very good."

"I don't want anything tacky," he says forcefully.

"It's an upscale arts and entertainment magazine, Edward, not the National Enquirer." I cock my head to the side and stare up at him. "Are you afraid of a little interview?"

"I'm not afraid of anything, Bella," he says definitively.

"Well, I guess you won't mind joining us on Sunday then. Dinner's at my place this week. You do remember where that is?"

He smirks at me and quirks an eyebrow. "Yes, I remember," he says dryly. He stares back at me and his expression shifts. "I need to explain about last night, Bella." Oh, Alice won't be happy about this. This kills the entire plan. I'm supposed to be in control here. I'm supposed to be the one dragging some sort of confession out of him. But, right now as he shifts nervously, and looks so vulnerable, I decide that Alice and her plan are just going to have to wait.

"So, explain," I say flatly as I feel the crack in the wall open a bit more.

His eyes widen. He leans back slightly, looking at me warily and then the words come, spilling out. "The guy you saw last night, whatever you think of him, it's not me. I'm lost, Bella. I don't even know who I am anymore. The only thing I know for sure is that I don't want to be that guy. You make me want to be someone else, someone better than that. Last night, with Lauren, I know that was wrong, and it's not why I went there. I went to see you. I had to see you. And then she came out of the office and she was all over me, pushing me against the wall, and I know I should have done more to stop her. I could have stopped her and I didn't. I know it was wrong. I made a mistake. You're allowed to make a mistake, right? Please, Bella. I need you to believe in me." His voice is barely audible as he brings his rambling to an end, and stares back at me hopefully.

I'm struck by his words. I want to understand why he's lost, what's happened to him to make him this way, why he needs _me_ of all people to believe in him. Why does it matter what I think?

"You need to apologize to Lauren," I say powerfully.

"I know that," he says softly, his eyes searching mine.

"Will you do the article for Alice?" I ask, staring back at him.

"I'll think about it, ok?"

I nod my head. "Edward, if you're _really_ not that guy, you need to start acting like it. Letting women go to their knees outside the office building and then leaving them there, isn't the way to do that." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Dinner is at seven on Sunday. We can figure out when you can fit me into your hectic painting schedule then." I turn and head for the door, with him following closely.

"Can I bring anything to dinner?" he asks as he holds the door open, leaning against it.

"Just you," I say, smiling up at him and leaving him open mouthed at the door. I smile to myself as I take the drive to work. I had come to Edward's this morning fully intending on laying into him, and now, I find myself driving away even more intrigued by the man.

I think about what I saw of Edward's work. I guess I don't know what I was expecting. It's definitely modern and seems so passionate and anxious, the colours bold and vibrant. I don't know much about art, but I'm fascinated by the emotion that I can see there.

What's even more fascinating is that he didn't seem revolted by my leg. I've had guys who literally have turned and run the other way as fast as_ their_ legs could carry them once they find out about it. But he seemed mesmerized and even more alarming, I wanted him to be. For the first time since this happened, I actually want a man to at least try to understand this.

As I pull in to get Rose's latte, I feel something I haven't felt in a really long time. I feel hope, and I wonder if these miniscule baby steps mean as much for him as they do for me.

xxxxxx

Lauren can't even look at me when I arrive for work.

"Good morning, Lauren," I say, cocking my head towards her.

"Bella, about last night…I…I don't really know what to say," she whispers, keeping her eyes locked to the desk in front of her.

"You don't have to say anything, Lauren. It's none of my business."

"I'm just so embarrassed. I mean, he's…he's just so…" I feel sick to my stomach now, because Lauren clearly likes him. Of course she does. I roll my eyes.

"Seriously, Lauren, let's just forget about it, ok?"

She nods her head and I eye the vase of flowers for a moment. They've started to wilt a bit since they arrived.

"It's going to be hard to forget about, Bella. I mean, we kind of went at it in the stairwell for God's sake," she whispers, darting her eyes to the stairwell door. My heart stops beating.

"What?" I feel the colour drain from my face. I cannot believe what I'm hearing.

She nods her head at me. "He brought me over to the stairs…" she points to the door "…and well, you know. Orgasm and everything," she says her eyes wide.

I'm rendered speechless for a moment as I try to digest what she's telling me. Edward, who less than a half an hour ago, claimed he needed me to believe in him, has fucked Lauren in the stairwell. "Well, I can see why that would be hard to forget," I say resentfully. Fuck, I'm an idiot. I take the vase of flowers from her desk.

"I'm thinking about asking him to the auction. Do you think he'd go with me?" she asks, looking hopeful.

"I don't know, if you give him that blow job I interrupted last night, then probably." She stares at me and her mouth drops open. "I think I'm going to take the flowers after all, Lauren," I say as I move quickly to my office.

I place the flowers on the desk and Rose's latte beside them as I search out my scissors. I know that right now, I'm being extremely childish, but this is the last fucking straw. I feel like a fool. Tears stain my cheeks and hope fades, as I take the hyacinths out of the vase and cut them into bits.

I find a small packing box from the last office supply delivery and throw the cut up flowers in. I print out an address label to Edward's loft and stick it on the box. Just before taping it up, inspiration hits as I remember his little comment about what the flowers meant, and I write him a note.

_Did you know that cut up purple hyacinths mean, you're an asshole?_

I stick the note on top of the flowers and tape up the box feverishly. I take the box to reception and hand it to Lauren, asking her to send it by the fastest method possible. Her eyes grow wide as she reads the address label.

"What are you sending Edward?" she asks, looking up at me.

"What he deserves," I seethe and turn to make my way back to my office.

xxxxxx

"This latte is cold," Rose says, smirking at me from her chair.

"There's a microwave in the kitchen. I'm sure you can heat it up," I bark at her.

"What the hell has gotten into you today?" she asks, studying me closely.

"You don't want to know." I scowl at her.

"No, actually, I think I do, Bella. Spill it."

So, I tell her…everything. About last night, about Alice's master plan, about Lauren and the fact that she's not the only one apparently turned on by sexual acts in public places. Most importantly, I tell her about my conversation with Edward this morning. She just stares at me, her expression unreadable until I finish. And then, she starts laughing.

"I don't really see what's so funny about all of this, Rose. Seriously, the guy's completely messed up," I say vehemently.

"You've got it bad, my friend," she says.

"I do not, Rose." She narrows her eyes at me. "OK, so maybe I did like him, but that was before I found out about Lauren's little stairway to heaven."

"So, what?" Rose says.

"So what? Seriously? You expect me to be ok with this, Rose? He was asking me out, and then he's fucking Lauren in the stairwell? Come on!"

"First of all, we don't actually know if they were fucking as you so eloquently put it. Maybe you should find that out before you throw the guy to the wolves. Second of all, ask yourself this question, Bella. If you really don't give a shit about Edward Cullen, why are you so bothered about this?" She smiles at me knowingly.

"I have reporting to do," I mutter as I get up to leave her office.

"Uh huh. Yeah, go and hide behind your numbers, Bella. Let me know when you're ready to really talk about this again," she calls to me as I close her door.

I make my way back to my office, knowing she's right. Of course Rose is right. Her ability to point out the painfully obvious when no one else will, is one of the reasons I love her so much.

I sit back in my chair, open up my internet browser and type in his name. I click on the news article I found yesterday and stare at his picture. _Did_ he and Lauren actually have sex in the stairwell? Am I willing to listen to whatever lame explanation he hands me? Yeah, everyone makes mistakes; God knows I've made more than my fair share. But, is this just a mistake, or is this actually who Edward really is? As I think about what he said today, I'm honestly not sure what to believe.

Part of me just wants to walk away. That's what I always do, and it would certainly make things a whole hell of a lot easier. But, then there's part of me who saw a different Edward this morning. Someone who was caring and vulnerable, who said he's lost. That's the Edward I want to know, the one I hope he is.

I'm fully aware that my slightly psycho move with the flowers this morning may make any ideas of getting to know Edward moot. I can only imagine what he's going to think when he gets this particular delivery.

My thoughts are interrupted as my cell phone rings. I look at the caller ID before answering. "Hey, Alice."

"How did this morning go? Did you go to Edward's?" she asks excitedly.

"It was interesting, to say the least, Alice." I get up to look out the window as my thigh complains again. I'm sure this bruise is going to be massive.

"What happened?" She sighs. And so, I rehash the entire thing yet again for Alice, who strangely enough has the same reaction Rose did. She laughs at me for a moment, and then unleashes her version of pissed off on me.

"I really wish you hadn't sent back the flowers, Bella. You just got him talking and now who knows what he's going to do. This is going to make this infinitely harder," she says forcefully.

"He deserved it, Alice. Who does that with some random girl in a stairwell?"

"Are you upset that he did it, or that it wasn't you?" she asks. Fuck, when did my best friends suddenly all get their psychology degrees? I move back to my chair and sit down.

"Whose side are you on, anyway? And it doesn't really matter. I sent the flowers, it's done now. There's nothing we can do about it," I say, staring at his picture on my computer screen. "Oh, I invited him to dinner on Sunday. Though, I'm not sure he's going to come after this."

"That's perfect! Jazz can take pictures for the article." She sounds giddy at the thought.

"If he shows up," I mutter.

"You need to make him show up, Bella. The magazine is really hoping for an interview. Once I told my editor that he was donating something for the auction, he wants a full spread done." Oh, fantastic. Like I need extra pressure.

"I'll see what I can do, Alice."

"Oh, remember, we're going to the vintage store on Saturday. They want another article for the magazine," she sings, switching gears completely.

"I remember." I try to sound excited, like I was when she first told Rose and I we were going to check out vintage dresses for the auction. The auction… which I have yet to find a date for. Ok, I haven't exactly tried and the way I feel right now, I'd like to bail on the whole thing, but I know that's impossible.

"OK, see you guys tomorrow!" Alice chirps.

"Bye, Alice." I hang up and stare back at his perfect face on computer screen, wondering why my life just keeps getting more and more complicated.

For the rest of the morning, I try to distract myself with cataloguing the items for the auction. I venture down to the cafeteria at lunch where Rose is engaged in conversation with Mike.

His face lights up when he sees me. Rose turns to me and gets that look, the one where I know she's been up to no good.

"Hey, Bella! I'm going to join you guys tonight at The Den," Mike says, looking as if he just won the lottery or something.

"We're going to The Den?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at Rose.

"Yeah, all of us are going. They have a new DJ. It'll be fun," she says, smiling widely at me.

"If this is your idea to get me dancing…" I warn her.

"No. I'm well aware of your views on dancing, Bella," Rose says, shaking her head at me. "We should be there around nine-thirty or so, Mike."

He flashes his eyes at me. "Sounds great! I'll see you guys there. I've got a mean Greek salad calling your name back here, Bella," he says eagerly.

I nod my head at him. "Sounds good, Mike. I'll take it." He disappears into the back and Rose smiles at me.

"I don't know what you've got up your sleeve, Rose." I start and she waves her hand dismissively at me.

"Why are you so paranoid? We're going out, so is he, end of story," she says.

Mike reappears with the salad and I pay for it quickly. "See you guys tonight," he says excitedly as we make our way back to the elevator.

"Not taking the stairs?" Rose asks, pushing the button for the elevator.

"Let's just say I'm steering clear of the stairwell for a while. I'm fairly certain I'll lose my appetite if I go up them today," I mutter.

She smirks at me and leans into my shoulder. "I'm glad he's at least got you thinking," she says.

"Me too, Rose. Me too."

* * *

Chapter End Notes:

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**Up next, possibly Towelward, definitely Edward.  
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	12. Chapter 12

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. April 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to the wonderful beta, xrxdanixrx-who's also provided awesome banner on Twilighted! Much love to you!**_

_**Thanks to all those reading, reviewing, and recommending. As ever, let me know what you think. **_

_**On with Edward…**_

_**-------------------------  
**_

EPOV

Chapter 12

I watch her ass as she walks away from my loft, and I fight with the urge to race after her.

Holy fuck, I'm going to dinner at Bella's.

I lean against the door after I shut it, and try to come to grips with this massive breakthrough.

So many emotions from this encounter have me reeling, and I can't even paint right now because I need more supplies. Fuck, I'm an idiot. Why didn't I stock up on what I needed before now? Right, because I haven't painted in months, and didn't have the need for paint until three days ago.

I grab my keys and head out to the supply store. I need to get back here so I can get this raging emotion onto the canvas before it decides to disappear.

"Cullen, wow. It's been a while man." James smirks from behind the counter at me as I fly into the store. James is a budding artist himself, and while he's waiting for his big break, he decided to open the only high quality art supply store I ever buy anything from.

"Yeah, I need some stuff," I mumble. I'm a man on a mission right now, and I really don't want to stop to chit chat with James.

"You haven't needed stuff for months. What happened?" he asks, looking way too interested.

"I got inspired," I say as he joins me at the oil paints.

"You got inspired? Tell me about it." He watches me in fascination as I scan the paint tubes, studying them closely and carefully select what I need.

"You know how it works. One day, something just hits you," I explain.

He nods his head. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Hey, Jane's going to do a showing for me, you know, try to sell some of my pieces." I tear my eyes away from the paints and look back at him.

"She is? That's great, man. Jane is good. She knows what she's doing."

"Yes, she most certainly does," he says, snickering. He waggles his eyebrows at me, and I shake my head.

"You know what I mean," I say. I move into the brush aisle and take my time selecting. I usually am pretty fucking anal about my brushes. But the amount of work I've been doing has taken a toll, and I may need to actually break down and use new ones soon. I don't want to be stuck without any when that happens.

"Yeah, I think I _do_ know what you mean," James says. He stares at me and raises an eyebrow, and I feel slightly nauseous again. Apparently, Jane has decided that fucking the artists she represents is on the checklist of things for her to do.

"I think that's everything." I turn to him with my arms full and head to the cash.

"Hey, about the whole Jane thing," he says, looking up at me from behind the register as he narrows his eyes. "I don't want it to be weird or anything. I mean, I know you guys fuck."

"No, we don't, James." I stare back at him as he smirks at me. He finishes ringing the order through, and I hand him my credit card.

"It's alright, man, just keep it covered that's all I'm saying. I mean, that shit is hot, and we gotta do what we gotta do, right?"

"You can have Jane all to yourself. I'm not interested," I say definitively.

"Right, whatever you say. When do you think this is going to be ready? Looks like a big piece you're working on," he says as he bags the massive amount of supplies.

"I'm not sure exactly. A month or so probably."

"That's around the same time as my showing. Hey, you should come. It's at Jane's gallery. I'll email you with the invite." He looks excited, and I know that feeling. I miss that feeling. Your first exhibit of new work is a total rush. The excitement of people seeing what you've created for the first time, wanting to know every single thing they're thinking, watching them as they study the brush strokes.

"That sounds great, man. I'd love to go," I say. Maybe I'll take Bella. The thought awakens my dick…again. I grab the bags, saying a quick goodbye to James before launching back to car.

Three hours later, as Sibelius' _Symphony No. 5_ blares through the studio, I stand in front of the canvas. This time, the strokes are calculated, less frantic, filled with promise and hope. Contrasting, vivid colours that blend together and meet in the middle of the canvas, exploding into a burst of brilliant burgundy.

I cock my head to the side, stare back at it, and marvel at just how far she has allowed me to come. In such a short amount of time, this woman has transformed me, awakened me, made me want more from her and myself. She doesn't have a clue, and now I feel that I need to finally tell her, or better, show her.

Wait a minute. Am I actually contemplating showing her this _before_ it's done? I don't do that. Ever. But she's already seen part of it, and this is all because of her.

A persistent knock on the door stirs me from my thoughts. I leave the brush on the desk and take the stairs to the door. I'm pumping with anticipation thinking that maybe she's back. I'm disappointed when I open the door to some young freckled teenager standing in the rain with a delivery box.

"Mr. Edward Cullen?" he asks.

"Yeah, that's me."

"This is for you. Sign here, please." He hands me the box, and I sign his little sheet on the clipboard, and shut the door.

What the hell is this? I don't remember ordering anything. I take a look at the label, and see it's from The Foundation. Oh, maybe it's the final rendering of the logo. I mean, the box doesn't weigh very much for it to be anything substantial.

I rip it open and lift out a folded note. My face takes a downturn when I see that the fucking hyacinths are cut up in the box. I open the note as my blood boils.

_Did you know that cut up hyacinths mean you're an asshole?_

I'm not sure if I should be livid or turned on right now. That I've managed to produce some sort of reaction is something, I guess. But what the fuck? I mean, I thought this morning we had crossed over from me being a mere annoyance to her tolerating me, at least. I fist the note into a ball in my hand as I feel the adrenaline course through my veins.

What the fuck does this mean? How am I an asshole all of a sudden?

I think over the few minutes that she was here, and can't for the life of me figure out how I was an asshole. The woman is insane. One minute I'm being invited to her house for dinner, and the next, I'm an asshole? And as I sit on the stool at the counter, staring at the cut up flowers, wondering what the fuck is going through her head, inspiration hits.

I haul the flowers upstairs to the studio, and begin frantically painting a new piece. This time, there is nothing calculated about my strokes, because quit frankly, I'm mad as fucking hell. I know exactly what I'm going to do with this.

A swirling kaleidoscope of vivid violet and rich red, each bleeding into the other, mixing confusion, anger, bitterness. It provides the backdrop as I permanently fix a few of the petals from the hyacinths to the canvas so they cascade down the side and off the frame. Then I paint them black. That should make for a nice hostess gift when I go to her house on Sunday…if I go to her house on Sunday.

As I stand, practically hyperventilating in front of the canvas, my cell phone buzzes from the desk. I drop the brush and pick up the phone, looking at the display.

"Carlisle. You're timing is impeccable as always," I sneer.

"Hello, Edward. Just checking in to make sure we're still on for tonight?" he asks hopefully. I can't remember the last time Carlisle double checked his plans with me.

I take a deep breath and turn away from the canvas. "Yeah, Carlisle. I'll be there."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you, Edward. It's been too long," he says.

"You think?" I half snort into the phone.

"Edward, I'm trying. You're going to have to, as well," he says quietly.

"I'll see you later." I hang up the phone, and then move back to the canvas, studying it, hoping that somewhere in here I'm able to find the answers to why my life is so Goddamn complicated.

xxxxxx

It's just after seven o'clock when I leave the car with the valet at the Wedgewood, and wander into Bacchus restaurant. I've taken a few women here; it's expensive, intimate, fresh flowers on the table, dim candlelight illuminating the room. Most women love this type of shit. I, of course, immediately think of Bella, who of course is _not_ most women, and therefore would probably hate this place.

I scan and find them quickly, sitting at the back of the restaurant, their heads bowed together. He's stroking her hair, looking at her like she's the only woman in the universe. He hasn't looked at a woman like that since mom. I watch for a moment as they read over the menu together.

He looks different. He's relaxed, and not the gaunt figure that he was the last time I saw him. My eyes fall to the mystery woman, who is nothing like any of the countless one night stands I've seen him with over the years.

She's older, probably almost as old as he is. She's beautiful in a girl next door kind of way, rather than a skank in tight clothing willing to give you a blow job if you buy her a cheap drink kind of woman that he usually is with.

She has shoulder length, curly ash blonde hair. She looks content, and so does he. He kisses the top of her head, and then looks towards the doorway. He rises up and waves at me, motioning for me to join them.

I nod my head to him before making my way over. He stands and walks around to the front of the table to meet me.

"Edward, it's so good to see you, Son," he pulls me into a hug, which I of course push back from as I stiffen.

"Carlisle," I respond, issuing him a skeptical look.

"Sit, sit. This is Esme." He grabs her hand and grips it tightly, like he's holding on for dear life or something.

"Nice to meet you," I mumble.

"Oh, Edward. It's so nice to finally meet you. All Carlisle talks about is you," she says. Her voice is soft and soothing, and makes me think about mom for a minute.

"He talks about me all the time?" I raise my eyebrows to her. "You do realize I haven't seen him in two years, right?"

She glances over at Carlisle briefly and then back to me. "Yes. I know, Edward. It's been a complicated couple of years," she says quietly.

I let out a huff and lean back into the booth. 'Is that right?" I ask lifting an eyebrow to her. "So complicated that he can't see or call his only son?"

"Edward!" Carlisle snaps at me.

"What, _Dad_? What do you want me say? Do you want me to lie to your girlfriend? Tell her we have a close relationship? I think you and I both know that's not the case."

"Edward, listen. I know I haven't been here to support you and your career…" Carlisle starts to offer me some lame explanation, but right now, I'm in no mood to listen to him.

"What the fuck do you know about my career?"

"I know everything I can, Edward. I have all the articles from when you sold your work. I have photos from the web of your paintings. I have everything I could have, given the circumstances," he says forcefully.

"What fucking circumstances, Carlisle? You know, it would have been nice to have someone from my family acknowledge the fact that I sold something. Something that you should know I did for mom."

"Edward, I couldn't be there," he says.

"Couldn't or wouldn't?"

"Couldn't. I was having chemotherapy." His voice drops to almost a whisper.

"What?" I feel the blood drain from my face. "What the fuck are you talking about? Why didn't somebody call me?"

"Edward, the last time I saw you two years ago, I was sick. Really sick. I know you probably thought I was thin from drinking too much, and not taking care of myself. That's partially true, but it was more than that. I didn't even know what was wrong, until I finally went to my doctor in Toronto. I had testicular cancer," he explains as Esme rubs his back with her hand.

"What? Jesus Christ, Dad! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because, I knew you were creating and painting, and that was a way for you to deal with your mother's death. I didn't want this to prevent you from realizing your potential, Edward. I wanted you to finish what you were doing for her. I didn't want to be the reason you didn't finish. And look at what's happened to you because of it. You're a successful, talented artist. I'm so proud of you, son," he says, and he actually sounds sincere, but right now, all I can think about is how I've been lied to for two years.

"That's bullshit, Dad. I could have helped you. I should have helped you! You had no right to keep this from me!" I scream at him.

"Keep your voice down, Edward! Let me finish."

A nervous waiter drifts by and tentatively asks if we'd like a drink.

"Double Crown Royal on ice," I bark at him.

"Just club soda for us," Esme answers.

"You're not drinking?" I ask, looking at Carlisle skeptically.

"No. Not any more," he says. Esme squeezes his shoulder staring up at him adoringly. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

The waiter disappears while I lean forward and narrow my eyes at Carlisle.

"I'm waiting," I say sharply.

"Edward, I know how hard it was for you when your mom got sick. I also know how hard it was for me. Look at what it did to me…to us. Look at who I turned into because I didn't deal with it. I didn't seek out help for me or for you. I completely failed you, but even after all of that, you found a way to survive. I just drowned," he admits as he stares back at me. "When I found out that I was sick, that I would have to go through the same hell that your mother did, I knew I couldn't let you watch it happen. I was petrified that you would turn out the way I did. So, I cut you off to try to keep you from having to go through this again."

"Dad," I shake my head at him and shut my eyes.

"Edward, I'm ok now. They got all of it. I'll have to do yearly tests and keep an eye on things, but I'm ok, and I owe most of that to Esme." He looks down at her, and she quirks a nervous smile to him.

"She was a volunteer at the hospital. She came to see me every day while I was being treated. She gave me hope. She helped me find myself. She taught me to really love again. I had to do that before I came back, Edward."

"I should have been there. I could have helped you. I've spent the last two years thinking you were off fucking the entire population of Toronto, Carlisle! Thinking that you didn't give a damn about me! Do you have any idea what that's done to me?" I ask him as I feel the tension roll off of me in waves.

"Edward, I'm sorry. I thought it was for the best. I didn't want you to see me go through it. You were thriving and becoming successful, and I couldn't take that away from you."

"Maybe you should have asked me first," I seethe.

"Sometimes, when you're a parent, you do things that you think are best for your children, to protect them, to make sure they grow the way they should," he says.

Oh, so now, I'm getting the 'I'm a parent and so I know everything" speech.

"I'm not a child, Dad. And I wasn't a child two years ago, either. You should have told me," I say through gritted teeth.

The waiter reappears, thankfully, with my Crown and their sodas.

"I'm telling you now. I'm here now, and I want you to be in our lives, Edward. I wasted so much time after your mom died. Time is something you never get back. I can't do anything about the past. I can't change it, but I can make sure that I don't make those mistakes again." We stare at each other for an immeasurable period of time, and I see his pain and regret, but mostly, I see hope. I finally break from his stare and down the Crown. It feels exceptionally good as it coats my throat.

"It's really gone?" I ask, my voice a mere whisper as I set the glass back onto the table.

He nods his head. "Yeah, it's gone."

I rest my forehead in my hands as I try to digest this. Everything I thought I knew about him was wrong. I feel guilty, so guilty about not bothering to call him, thinking the worst, believing that my own father didn't give a shit about me.

"We should eat," Esme says softly. I raise my head and stare at her blankly as she lifts a menu to me.

I nod and take it from her while Carlisle smiles down at her.

"Tell us about you, Edward," Esme encourages. "Have you been painting anything new?"

I stare back at her. "I just started painting again recently."

"What do you mean _again_?" Carlisle asks.

"I haven't painted in months. Not since Angela and I broke up."

"What happened to change that?" Esme asks.

"I found my inspiration," I say quietly as I think about Bella, although I'm not sure she's anything anymore.

"Is it anything that we could see while we're here?" Esme asks hopefully.

"I don't show my paintings until their finished."

"Oh," she looks down at her glass and twirls it in her hands.

"I'm donating a piece to a fundraiser next month. That will be ready before my next collection is." Her eyes grow wide at this information, and suddenly I feel the need to have them see my work; to watch Carlisle's face as he sees it unveiled. "You guys should come back for that. It's an auction to raise money for the Boreal forest." I look at him eagerly, and his face lifts.

"We'd love to come, Edward," he says. I nod my head and open the menu. The waiter returns, and I order the Wild Applewood Smoked Coho Salmon. I don't even hear what they order because I'm still trying to come to grips with this fucking life altering turn of events. The waiter takes the menus from us and I sit back, feeling drained and exhausted.

"So, have you been seeing anyone, Edward?" Carlisle asks.

"I've seen a lot of people," I answer him, curling the corners of my mouth up.

He chuckles and takes a sip of his club soda. "No one special?" he presses.

"None of them have been special. I did meet someone recently though, who I thought was maybe different."

"You thought?" Carlisle asks.

"Yeah, I thought she was. Now, I'm not so sure," I admit. I'm still trying to figure out what fucked up motivation is behind trashing the flowers. Part of me doesn't even know why I'm bothering.

"Did you talk to her? Maybe it's something you can work through. I mean, if this has taught me anything it's that there's always hope, Edward, even when it seems like that's impossible." I stare back at Carlisle, unsure of what to do with his attempt at giving me advice for the first time in years. I don't know if I should feel pissed off of the time I've lost with him, angry for him lying to me, or just grateful that I get another chance.

"So, you guys are here for a couple of weeks?" I ask, deciding to change the subject.

"Yes, I thought maybe we could spend some time together, if you're free?" Carlisle asks hopefully.

"Sure, I mean, I need to paint, but we can figure something out," I say. He nods his head and Esme looks relieved. As our meals arrive and we engage in polite conversation about Esme's work at the cancer treatment centre, I begin to feel something I haven't felt in a very long time.

I feel hope.

Hope for me, for him, for salvaging our relationship. There is a whole hell of a lot of work to be done by both of us, but I feel that tonight we've taken a massive step.

It's almost nine o'clock when Carlisle decides to call it a night. He agrees to call me in a couple of days, recognizing that I'm going to need some time to digest what's happened tonight.

I check my messages on my phone as I wait for the valet to pull my car up. I listen to Emmett complain at the top of his lungs, and ask why I'm not at The Den already. I had totally forgotten about meeting him tonight.

He's celebrating the launch of his new website. I had provided him with new designs, which were a vast improvement over what he had. He's also offered to give me free personal training sessions for the next year on the basis of the new clientele he's garnered since I revved his pathetic first logo, which I think he drew himself on the back of a bar napkin.

I don't much feel like going out right now, but I also know that he's just going to hound me until I do, so I may as well get it over with.

I take the short drive to The Den, and park the car. I cringe as I walk in. I'm assaulted by some sort of wretched, blasting hip hop mix which I absolutely loathe. The place is full of scantily clad women who are, as I've unfortunately found out, are easily amused and therefore, easy for me to fuck. It's really tempting right now. I'm not going to lie.

I'm so confused about everything that's happened today. Maybe all I need is a good random lay. I scowl to myself because I know that's not what I really want. What I really want is Bella, despite everything that's happened.

I think about what Carlisle said tonight, about talking it out, and I wonder if that's possible for us. I mean, even after everything she saw with Lauren…yes, Lauren, she still came to the loft. Doesn't that mean something? But what about the flowers? What happened today that made her revert back into ice queen mode? I could spend a lifetime trying to figure this woman out.

I scan for Emmett and find him standing up at the bar. He motions to a small booth to the side of the dance floor, and I make my way to it. I sit down and survey the room. Some of the women gyrating on the dance floor have already taken notice of Emmett. He tends to attract attention; he's massive and boisterous, and funny as hell.

He returns to the booth with a tray full of beers, and a few fruity drinks with umbrellas in them. I eye them curiously. "Into girly drinks now, Emmett?" I ask, laughing at him.

"These are awesome! Have you never tried a green apple martini?" he asks seriously. I shake my head at him and watch as he downs one. "Here, go ahead. You'll thank me for it, trust me."

I reach for the drink and take a sip. "Is there even any alcohol in here?" I ask.

He smiles and nods his head, "Oh, yeah. Double shots in each. It's how Bella likes them."

"Then I'll be sure not to have any more." I frown at him.

"What the hell dude!? I heard that you're painting her. What's going on? I thought you liked her?" he asks, looking confused. Join the club, my friend.

"She's insane, Emmett. That's what's going on," I say forcefully.

"Bella is not insane. I mean, she has her issues, who wouldn't with what she's gone through. Guys have treated her like shit. But she's not crazy, Edward." His voice is stern, and I know better than to argue with Emmett about this.

I just shake my head at him and down the martini before turning to the Sleeman's Honey Brown, and chugging it back.

"Just give her time, man. That's all I'm saying. From what Rosie says, she likes you," he says, tilting his beer towards me.

I just about spit my beer out, because if this is how Bella likes someone, I'd hate to see it if she didn't. "I don't think Bella likes me, Emmett."

"We'll just have to wait and see." He smirks at me, and suddenly I think I know exactly where this night is going.

"She's coming here isn't she?" I ask as I scowl at him over the beer bottle.

"Maybe."

"Fuck, Emmett!"

"What?"

"Why don't you tell me stuff like this? If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come here," I say loudly.

"Too late, dude." He nods his head towards the door. I turn and see Rosalie saunter in, her head held high as the entire male population of the bar stops and stares at her.

A little, petite woman with dark spiky hair follows her in. She seems to be dragging along some poor soul who looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here. I actually feel sorry for him.

And then I see her. She's biting her lip and looking around the club nervously. Her eyes fall to the dance floor, and she scowls and hits Rose in the back…hard. I stifle a laugh. It appears I'm not the only one she chooses to unleash her wrath on.

My eyes travel down her body which, of course, means my dick is immediately hard. She's dressed in black jeans and a black tight fitting sweater that makes me just want to rip it off of her and take her right the fuck here in the middle of the dance floor.

I feel my heart begin to race as they scan the club. I do a double take as I see Chef Mike from the cafeteria, following behind Bella, his eyes fixated on her ass.

What the fuck is this? I can't imagine that this is Bella's idea. She looks annoyed by his presence as he moves his hand to the small of her back and coaxes her towards the dance floor.

What is he doing? She hates dancing. I stiffen in my seat. He seems intent on getting her to the dance floor. She whips her head around and says something to him. He recoils looking like some sort of wounded animal. He looks as if he's apologizing, and I chuckle as I watch his pathetic attempt to save this little disaster.

Little Spiky says something to Bella, and her eyes grow wide for a minute as she listens. Then, to my utter shock, she puts her hand on Mike's shoulder, and whispers something into his ear. A smile fills his face.

What the fuck? What is she doing? Is she seriously interested in Chef Mike? And then, she turns deliberately back towards our booth, locks eyes with me and issues me the raised eyebrow.

Holy fuck. Game on.

* * *

Chapter End Notes

Sibelius' Symphony No. 5- Pure genius

www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=eLOig_N14Dg&feature=related

**Twitter: CarLemon**

**Up next, Bella**

**Thanks for reading. Press review...you know you want to!**


	13. Chapter 13

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. April 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to the brilliant xrxdanixrx. Much love to you, hun!**_

_**Thanks to all those reading, reviewing, and recommending. As ever, let me know what you think. **_

_**On with Bella…**_

_**--------------------  
**_

BPOV

Chapter 13

"Seriously, Rose! We've been around the block four times already. There's a ton of places to park. Just pick one," I growl. I know from the way Rose and Alice have been acting, since they got to my place tonight, that they've been scheming again. I also know from experience that this is not a good thing.

"I'm just trying to find a good spot, Bella," Rose says, smirking at me.

Rose finally pulls into the lot directly across from The Den and turns the car off. "Ok! Let's go," she says all chipper and eager and very un-Rose like.

I narrow my eyes at her and get out of the car, waiting for Alice and Jasper.

"Oh, look! There's Mike!" Rose says, trying to sound shocked and failing miserably.

"Are you guys kidding me right now? _ Mike_ is what you've been stalling for the last ten minutes?" I ask, cocking my head to the side at them.

"What? You knew he was coming," Rose says, sauntering across the parking lot, making a beeline for Mike.

"You guys are pathetic," I say, glaring at Alice.

"Oh, come on, Bella. It's just one night. What could possibly happen?" Alice asks, leaning into Jasper. I think Jasper looks as uncomfortable as I feel.

"What do you say, Jazz? Should we bail on these two?" I ask, linking my arm with his. Alice issues him a death glare.

"I think that would only make things worse, Bella," he says, smiling back at Alice. "Come on, let's go." He rolls his eyes and starts across the parking lot towards Rose and Mike.

Mike looks like he's won the lottery or something, standing all wide eyed, staring at me with his mouth gapping open. Pathetic is the word that comes to mind. Pathetic and not Edward.

I've had more than enough time to think about my rash move with the flowers today and worry about his reaction. The fact that I've not heard from him says it all, I guess. I'm sure he thinks I'm insane. I don't actually know if he'll even still do the painting. God, I'm an idiot. What if he changes his mind about donating something for the auction? There's no way we're going to find something to replace it. I feel horrible, because now, my ridiculous psycho bitch move could really end up hurting The Foundation. I need to talk to him.

"Earth to Bella?" Rose waves her hand in front of my face, looking annoyed.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about something," I mutter.

"Wow, Bella. You look really great," Mike says, raking his eyes down me. I don't know why he looks at me the way he does. It's only a black sweater and jeans, for God's sake. It took me all of ten minutes to get ready. I manage to smile at him while Rose and Alice exchange looks.

Rose checks her Blackberry and then gets that evil smile I know all too well. "We should get inside, before it gets too busy," she says. Like Rose has ever cared about how busy a bar is before.

Mike motions for me to walk ahead of him. I shake my head and follow Rose towards the door with Mike right on my heel like some sort of trained but annoying dog or something.

God, I hate techno music. It's spilling out onto the street while we walk right past the line up to the front door.

A few of the women in line, who are dressed in tube tops that are way too tight and who are clearly anxious to get drunk, begin to shout their complaints. They are quickly silenced by the patented Hale Glare.

The oversized bouncer at the front door nods his head at Rose and then lets us all into the bar. There's never been a time when Rose has been turned away from getting into a bar before the poor souls who are lined up and have probably been waiting for God knows how long.

While we walk into The Den, Mike's hand immediately moves to the small of my back, and I stiffen under his touch. I hit Rose in the back, harder than I should, but she deserves it.

Mike is right away trying to coax me towards the dance floor. Clearly Rose hasn't shared this little piece of essential information with Mike. Now, I'm officially pissed. Having to endure Mike for the night is one thing, making me dance is quite another. I'm going to have to have a talk with Rose and Alice…set some ground rules and remind them of what I'm willing to go along with.

I whip my head around and glare at Mike. "I don't dance, Mike, so if that's what you came here to do, you'll need to find someone else." I know I sound like a bitch, but quit frankly, I hope he thinks that's exactly what I am. I'm in no mood to deal with Mike.

"Sorry, Bells. I didn't know. That's ok. I'm not much of a dancer anyway. I'd rather just sit and talk. Why don't we find a seat?" he asks, looking optimistic. Oh, now I feel sorry for him, and I feel even more horrible because Mike _is_ actually a nice guy.

Alice taps me on the shoulder and leans over, smirking at me. "Edward is here." What the hell? "I suggest you take the plan up a notch," she says low enough so Mike can't hear…I hope.

I panic for a moment because truthfully, I'm not at all comfortable with Alice's plan to confuse Edward. I think I've done enough confusing for one day, thank you very much.

Alice nudges me towards Mike, throwing me off balance slightly, and I steady myself on his shoulder. "Sorry, we should probably sit down," I say. He apparently thinks I'm trying to get closer to him because his smile widens further, if that's possible.

I scan the bar looking for a place to sit. It's packed, mostly with women grinding away on the dance floor or looking like they want to. It's a virtual meat market in here. I make a mental note to make sure to have a headache the next time Rose suggests this place.

And then, through the arms waving in the air on the dance floor, I see Edward, sitting in all his glory at a table with Emmett. He has a dark blue button down shirt on, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair a raunchy mess, his patented smirk already playing across his lips. My breath catches for a moment. Jesus, he's beautiful. He locks eyes with mine and tilts his beer bottle towards me.

What the fuck is this? He's challenging me? I quirk an eyebrow to him.

"Oh, there's Emmett," Rose says, trying to sound all shocked that he's here. "Come on." She takes my hand and leads me around the perimeter of the dance floor to the table.

"Edward! I didn't expect to see you here," Rose says. I roll my eyes.

"Rosalie," Edward says, grinning at her. Oh, wait. Is he in on this? No, there's no way. I can't imagine that Edward would agree to something like this. My stomach turns, and I feel the overwhelming need to get the fuck out of here right now.

"Sit down, Babe," Emmett says, holding out a chair for Rosalie. He kisses her softly, and she sits down beside him.

Edward shuffles over to the far side of the bench. "There's plenty of room. Sit down, Bella," Rose says. I hesitate, but then slip into the bench beside Edward while he glares at Mike. Oh shit! Mike. He's still here, and he's now white as a ghost.

"Come, sit," I say, patting the space beside me. Mike looks between Edward and I warily, and then sits beside me.

"It's good to see you again, Mike. How is the restaurant coming along?" Edward asks, passing him what looks like a martini. I resist the temptation to swipe it from him and gulp it back. I could really use a drink right now. The buzz from the bottle of wine that we split at my place seems to be wearing off, and I'm fairly certain I'm going to need that buzz if I'm to make it through a night like this.

Mike looks at the martini questioningly and then takes it from him. "We're on schedule to open in a few weeks," Mike says. "You should come." Oh right, that's just exactly what Edward should do.

"We should all go. What do you think, Bella?" Edward asks, staring down at me. I peek up at him, his eyes dark, his jaw flexed like he's reining in some raw emotion that's threatening to spill out of him.

"That's a great idea," I say quietly. Oh God, this just couldn't be any more awkward, and where the fuck has Alice gone? I scan the bar quickly, finding her and Jasper beginning their intimate sway on the dance floor.

"I think I'll get a drink," I say, pushing up from the bench.

"Oh, I'll get it!" Mike says, looking eager. "What would you like?"

"A vodka cranberry. Thanks, Mike." He smiles down at me and then disappears into the crowd at the bar.

"Well, thank fuck for that," Edward mutters.

"What was that?" I ask, whipping my head around to him.

"Nothing," he says, cocking an eyebrow to me.

"Rosie, let's dance. I've been waiting all night to get you out there," Emmett says, pulling on Rose's arm. I shake my head as they wiggle their way onto the cramped dance floor.

Edward lets out a heavy sigh. "So, I got an interesting delivery today," he says darkly.

I finally look back up at him and he looks…I don't even know…confused, hurt, pissed off?

"Yeah, about that. I should really apolo…" My voice trails, because now, Edward's eyes are clearly transfixed on something that is obviously much more interesting than I am. He's staring at the bar, his mouth dropped open slightly, his eyes narrowed. I follow his gaze and see exactly what he's looking at.

Of course she's some thin, beautiful brunette in a low cut white dress that hugs every single curve on her body. I shake my head. I don't even know why I'm trying here.

"Edward?" I say, waving my hand in front of his face.

"Yeah, sorry," he says, taking a sip of his beer.

"See something you like up there?" I ask, lifting my head to the bar.

"Just someone I used to know," he mutters, running his hands through his hair.

Of course he used to know her. He probably _knows_ half the women in here.

"Can you just give me a minute, Bella?" he asks, not even bothering to look at me.

"Yeah, sure," I mumble. I watch as he gets up and heads to the bar, stalking over to Little Miss Tiny White Dress and tapping her on the shoulder.

She turns around and her eyes grow wide. She's clearly drunk and very, very happy to see him. She squeals; I can hear her over the crowd and the irritating music, and then she throws her arms around his neck, curling up on her toes and grinding her perky tits right into him. I feel nauseous and jealous.

Whoa, wait. Jealous? I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. I have nothing to feel jealous of. Oh, why does he have this affect on me?

While I watch Edward and this white clad fem bot engage in some riveting conversation, Alice and Jazz make their way back to the booth.

"Where's Edward?" Alice asks.

"He's hitting on some girl at the bar," I say, rolling my eyes.

"What? Why did you let him go over there?" she asks. She sounds like she's scolding me.

"I didn't _let_ him do anything, Alice. He wanted to go talk to her. Apparently, she's fascinating or something."

"Bella, get over there," she practically hisses at me.

"Alice, I'm done. I'm not doing this anymore. I don't even know what I'm doing. He's clearly not interested, and I'm at my limit of making an idiot of myself."

"You can't give up that easily, Bella," she says.

Jazz rolls his eyes behind her and shakes his head, looking at me sympathetically. "I'm going to go get us some drinks, babe," he says, turning and walking to the bar.

Alice slides into the booth beside me, and wraps her arm around my shoulder. "What do you say to some shooters then, Bella? I think maybe we could use some. Loosen you up a bit," she suggests.

"Sure, sounds good," I say, knowing that nothing good can come from Alice and her shooters. We've been down this road more times than I care to remember…actually I can't _really_ remember much from Alice's famed Shooter Saturday's that we used to have.

Alice looks giddy as she bounces in the booth and then leaps from it, practically running to the bar.

And so I sit here, by myself, watching. Watching Rose and Emmett grind on the dance floor, their bodies tangled, their eyes locked. Watching Alice as she runs to Jazz and he slides his hand up her back, kissing the top of her head and listening as she rattles on, no doubt about her insane shooter requests. Watching Mike smile widely, a vodka martini in both hands, making his way eagerly back to the booth and looking hopeful. And watching Edward, while he stays riveted in his engaging conversation with the fem bot, wishing I was her.

I feel myself slipping, thinking once again that I'll never be worthy; that I'll always manage to screw it up deliberately, it seems.

Mike reaches the table and smiles warmly. "I got you two. I hope that's ok?" he asks, setting them both in front of me.

"Thanks, Mike," I say. I raise one of the glasses to him and down the contents quickly. Hmmm, it tastes like a double. That's a good thing right now.

He laughs, and I quickly finish off the second drink while he watches me closely.

"Do you want to talk about it, Bella?" he asks, sliding his arm up along the back of the booth, his fingertips resting on my shoulder.

"No. You know what? I don't want to talk about it. That's actually the last thing I want to do," I say, staring back at him.

He nods and twirls one of the empty glasses on the table nervously. Jasper and Alice arrive back at the table with a massive tray of some delightful looking shooters.

Alice waves her arms, getting Rose's attention on the dance floor, and motions for them to join us.

Rose smiles widely and pulls Emmett back to the table. "It's not even Saturday, Alice. Are we starting a new Friday shooter tradition?" Rose asks mischievously.

"Yes, I think we are," Alice says.

Jazz passes around the shooters and then holds his up in the air. "To new traditions," he says, nodding at me.

We clink our glasses and I down whatever shooter this is, slamming the empty glass back on the table. Mike practically spits his out, because apparently his alcohol tolerance level is lower than most sixteen year olds. We all laugh loudly at him, but he doesn't really seem to care. He picks up another and winces as he drinks it down.

Edward is still oblivious to the fact that we're now on the second round of shooters. He now has his hand on the skinny chick's back, and is rubbing it up and down.

I reach for another shooter and gulp it quickly, not even bothering to wait for the others to join me.

"What's the rush, Swan?" Emmett asks, raising his eyebrows to me.

"Why wait?" I ask, setting the shooter down beside the tray and picking up another one.

Mike picks up another glass and clinks it with mine. "To not waiting!" he yells as he swallows it, and then proceeds to cough and hack, trying to keep it from coming back up.

I drink mine and bang the glass back onto the table. Mike looks like he's going to throw up. Oh, you have got to be kidding me?

"Um, I'll be right back," he says, steadying himself, and then making a run for the door.

"Lightweight," Rose mutters, gulping back her shooter and putting the empty glass on the tray.

"Hey, where's Edward?" Emmett asks.

I point to the bar, knock back another shooter, and he turns his head. "What the fuck? Who is that?" he asks. Rose hits him in the chest. "No. I didn't mean it like that, Rosie. It's just, she's not part of the plan," Emmett says.

Silence takes over the table while they stare at me and wait. Rose looks beyond pissed at Emmett. And I am, I realize, beyond drunk. Damn Alice and her shooters. This always happens. An innocent looking tray of tiny drinks…they look like water…what harm could they really do? I should know better, or at least, I should pace myself. Oh! I suddenly remember I'm pissed off.

"The plan, huh?" I ask, raising my voice. "I knew you guys were up to something. What the fuck did you think was going to happen here tonight?" I pick up another shooter and drink it back. It burns a bit as it goes down my throat. I push up from the booth and hang on to the table. Things are starting to look a bit blurry.

"Bella," Alice starts, but I'm drunk and pissed off. Not a good combination for me.

"Don't Bella me! Why can't you guys just drop it for fucks sake!" I know my words are starting to slur.

Rose glares at me. "We're just trying to help, Bella. Sometimes you can be so stubborn, you don't even see what's right in front of you," she says.

"I know you're just trying to help, but please, do me a favour and stop. Ok? Just stop!" I press my finger into her shoulder and sway slightly. OK, this is not going to necessarily be the most graceful storm out ever.

"Bella," Alice starts.

"Alice, just let me go, ok? I'm going to check on Mike," I say, steadying myself before trying to navigate around the dance floor. It's at this moment that I see Edward leading the mystery woman in white towards the door. Of course he is.

I dart my eyes to the floor, which seems to be spinning slightly. I don't really want to watch Edward leave with some random pick up. I know I'm loosing my composure really fast right now. I need to keep it together long enough to get the fuck out of here without falling down.

I raise my eyes to door, and am grateful that Edward has disappeared with his fuck for the night. At least one of us is getting laid. I get turned around a bit and wander mistakenly onto the edge of the packed dance floor. I feel the blood racing in my veins, warm bodies bump into me, setting me slightly off balance, and I fight not to loose it. The pulsating rhythm pounds in my ears, the lights strobe around me, making me more dizzy. I can feel the tears welling up, threatening to spill over as I stumble towards the door.

I push the door open and breathe the night air in deeply. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to calm down. Once I'm sure that the tears are gone for the time being, and I am in fact not going to pass out, I scan both sides of the street, remembering that Mike is out here, probably hurling the contents of his stomach onto some unsuspecting pedestrian or something.

I decide to search for him, wandering down the street to the right of the bar, away from the line up that is still waiting to get in. I know I'm not walking in a straight line, so I try to steady myself, keeping one hand on the side of the building. To crash down right now, would not be a good thing. I can feel the bruise on my hip pulsate and complain at the thought of another fall today.

Jesus, I hope no one sees me right now. How pathetic am I? Seriously? I've let Edward get to me…again, when it's so painfully obvious that he's not interested. Even as drunk as I am, I can see that. I trip slightly over nothing, I'm sure, and stop for a moment, leaning against the side of the building.

I shake my head and try to remember why I'm out here. Oh yeah. Mike! I take a look down the street and try to stop it from blurring in front of me. Focus, Bella! You've survived Alice's Saturday Shooters, this is nothing. Oh, hold on, I think that's him!

"Mike?" I call out, seeing a male figure leaning casually up against the corner of the building. It looks like Mike, but honestly I can't really be sure. What I am sure of is my head feels fuzzy, and I really wish I was at home right now.

"Mike? Mikey, Mikey?" I giggle a bit louder as I get closer to this guy. Ok, so I think Mike had a jacket on like that, if I remember correctly. "Is that you? Are you playing hide and go seek with me, Mikey?" I laugh loudly and finally stop in front of him, swaying slightly.

"I'll play whatever game you want, pretty lady."

Oh, fuck. Definitely not Mike.

* * *

Chapter End Notes

**Oh, no…**

**Up next, EPOV.**

**Thanks to all for reading…now, press review.**

**Twitter: CarLemon**


	14. Chapter 14

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. April 2010.

_**Thanks to the wonderfully talented, xrxdanixrx-who's also provided awesome banner! Much love to you! I don't know what I'd do with you!**_

_**Thanks to all those reading, reviewing, and recommending. It really does make my day. Whoa, some of you really would like to fry Edward right about now wouldn't you? Love all your theories on the last chapter.**_

_**As ever, let me know what you think. Things aren't always what they seem to be.**_

_**On with Edward and what he's really thinking…**_

EPOV

Chapter 14

While Rose pulls Bella to the table, my mind is reeling with the possibilities of where I could go with this right now. I'd really like to just pull her outside and have a civilized conversation with her…well, right after I fuck her senseless.

Chef Mike is trailing along behind her like a little obedient dog. That makes me want to throw up. Did she really come here with him? Does she not see how pathetic he is? Him? What about me? Why am I still sitting here, getting progressively harder with each step she takes towards me? I mean, how much more do I need to see before I realize that she's not interested?

"Edward! I didn't expect to see you here," Rose says. Rose best keep her day job. She's not very good at acting. Bella rolls her eyes, because that's apparently the standard reaction she has to me.

"Rosalie," I say, nodding my head at her and smirking at Mike. This could actually be a lot of fun. I think I'm going to like tormenting the little Chef.

Emmett holds out a chair for Rose and she sits down for all of a nanosecond before he's making sure the rest of the men in the bar know she's taken.

I move to the side of the bench to give Bella room to sit down. Rose barks at her to sit and she does. She smells fantastic and I have to resist the temptation to touch her. I ball my fists under the table and issue Mike the stare. Mike clearly recognizes this look, the one saved for assholes when you want to let them know they're dangerously close to really pissing you off.

Of course, the Chef turns pale white, because quite frankly, I'm a bit intimidating when I want to be, and right now, I want to be.

Bella encourages Mike to sit down. Fuck, maybe she _did_ come with him. He looks like he's going to throw up or pass out, or both, but he does sit beside her. Oh, this is too easy. She thinks she's the Queen of mixed signals? Let's see how she does when I'm actually nice to Mikey-Mike.

"It's good to see you again, Mike. How is the restaurant coming along?" I try to sound like I give a shit, and I even pass him one of the girly drinks on the table. I'm sure he's used to these and has them all the time. Bella shifts uncomfortably which makes me really fucking happy.

Mike looks at the martini like it's a foreign object from another planet, but then takes it from me. He tells me that the restaurant is on schedule, and then invites me to the opening. That's exactly where I need to be; preferably with Bella on my arm, and then under me immediately after...or on top, I'm not going to be picky.

"We should all go. What do you think, Bella?" I ask her. Fuck, she's beautiful. My dick is Goddamn almost coming through my jeans at this point. I cannot believe that she has this effect on me. Even after the certifiably insane move with the flowers, I still want her. How can she not feel this - whatever this is between us? She's looking up at me from under her eyelashes, all innocent and tempting, and I just want to pick her up and drag her out of here with me.

"That's a great idea," she says, looking uneasy and like she wants to be anywhere but here. She glances at the dance floor, maybe plotting her escape route, I don't know. The fucking tension in the air is palatable, I can feel it. I'm sure she can.

"I think I'll get a drink," she says and starts to push up from the bench, which brings her perfect breasts together and provides me a view that makes me almost salivate like some sort of rabid animal.

"Oh, I'll get it!" Mike says, looking eager. "What would you like?" Well, Mike can actually be useful. Who would have thought?

"A vodka cranberry. Thanks, Mike," she says. He smiles down at her, and then hauls his sorry ass towards the bar.

"Well, thank fuck for that," I say under my breath.

"What was that?" Bella asks, glaring at me with her patented ice stare.

"Nothing." I cock an eyebrow to her…my patented stare.

"Rosie, let's dance. I've been waiting all night to get you out there," Emmett says.

Oh, right, this is part of the lame ass plan that I'm sure Emmett and Rose put together. Bella isn't impressed, either. Do they think we're back in high school or something?

To be honest, it does mean I have a few precious minutes alone with Bella, and so I decide to just bite the bullet and get this over with. "So, I got an interesting delivery today," I say calmly before taking a deliberate swig of my beer.

She blinks up at me and looks…nervous, scared, sorry? I tear my eyes away from her and over to the bar because if she keeps looking at me like that, I'm going to fucking come right here and now. How can this woman make me so crazy when I'm not even touching her?

I scan the bar and I'm sure I stop breathing. Holy fuck. You have got to be kidding me. What the fuck have I done in a previous life that warrants this fuckery? What the fuck is she doing here?

I'm aware that Bella is saying something, but right now I've got absolutely no idea what that is, because standing at the bar, decked out in a white fuck me dress is Angela.

I haven't seen or talked to her since she came to pick up her shit from the loft. To be honest, I don't really want to talk to her now, but while I watch Mike order Bella's drink from the bartender and then stare over at her with a sad, pathetic look, a brainwave hits me.

If Emmett and Rose's plan was to make me jealous with Mike, I think it's only fair that I return the favour.

"Edward?" Bella asks, waving her little hand at me.

"Yeah, sorry," I say.

"See something you like up there?" she asks sharply. No, actually the only thing I like is you, but you seem to loathe and despise me. This could either make you realize you're wrong, or send you home with Mike. Am I willing to do this?

"Just someone I used to know," I say. "Can you just give me a minute, Bella?" I know I'm being an ass, that this is beyond risky, but actually seeing Angela makes me think that there are a few choice words I'd like to say to her, and I'm nothing, if not, a multi-tasker. I get to confront Angela and make Bella jealous at the same time. God, I'm a genius sometimes.

I leave Bella, afraid to see the look on her face, and walk over behind Angela and her postage stamp of a dress. "Angela, surely you're not trying to pretend to be virginal?" I ask sarcastically, bending so my mouth is close to her ear.

She turns around and her eyes grow wide. Whoa, it smells like she's been swimming in a pool of tequila. Oh fuck, a drunk Angela is not a good thing. She squeals really fucking loudly. Well, at least that will catch Bella's attention.

"Edward! Oh, my God! Look at you," she slurs at me, and then wraps her arms around my neck. I can feel her little tits against me…that used to excite me, now I just feel nauseous. Jesus, I practically have to hold her up. She's almost falling down for God's sake.

"This is Edwarrrrd. Edward, Jessica…you know, like the cartoon Rabbit." She tips back and hits some generic looking friend she's with on the shoulder.

"Oh, Edward? _The_ Edward?" Jessica asks. She seems shocked. At least she's not drunk. Oh fuck, why did I come over here? And what does that even mean t_he Edward_?

"How have you been?" I ask, holding her around the waist, because quite frankly, she's going to fall down if I don't.

"Drunk! I'm drunk, Eddy-boy," she says, swaying back slightly.

"Whoa, Angela. We should probably get you home. Did you drive?" I ask, hopeful that Jessica will take the hint and get her the fuck out of here.

"Are you tryin ta pick me up, Eddykins?" Fuck my life.

"No, I'm not trying to pick you up." She runs her hand over my shoulder and now I'm really fucking sorry I came up with this brainwave.

"Oh, Eddybear. We used ta have goooood timesss." She runs her hand around my waist and I push her drink away from her. Jesus, she needs to sleep this off. I can't ever remember seeing her this drunk before. "Dontcha wanna fuck me?" she asks, snaking her hand down to my ass. Did I say, fuck my life?

"No, not at all," I admit. Not now and not ever again. I steal a glance back at the table. Bella and Mike are hitting back shooters like there's no tomorrow. She's looking pretty Goddamn happy right now, and this makes me pissed off and slightly panicked at the thought of her going home with him.

Angela leans further into me, resting her head on my shoulder, and I run my hand down her back to steady her. "Come on, I'm getting you a cab before you pass out." I scan for Jessica, who is now no where to be seen…some friend.

I guide Angela towards the door, actually hoping that Bella sees this, because I know it will make her really fucking angry…at least I think it will, unless of course she actually really_ is_ into the Chef. Now I'm even more pissed, because I have a drunken Angela to deal with when I all I really want to do, is get back to the table so I can try to figure out what the hell Bella's thinking, and maybe torment Mikey a bit more.

I manage to get Angela out and onto the street before she turns a hideous shade of green, and then proceeds to hurl the contents of her stomach all over the curb…over and over again. Good times, indeed.

"Angela, why did you drink this much?" I ask, steadying her when she's finished puking.

"Whadda you care, EddySpaghetti?" she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Fuck, I don't think this could be any worse.

"Angela!" I turn to see Jessica coming towards us. Oh, thank God. "What are you doing out here?" Jessica asks, looking pissed off.

"Eddy's takin me home," Angela stammers.

"Ah, no, I'm not. I was getting her a cab," I explain. "Come on, they're parked down the street. A little walk will do you good." I can't believe I'm even offering to help her in this state, or at all given what she did to me, but I'm not a total asshole and I'd hate for something to happen to her.

Jessica nods her head at me and takes Angela's other arm. We steady her and walk down the street to the waiting cabs. "Does she do this often?" I ask Jessica.

"Every once in a while," she admits.

"Eddy, why did we break up?" Angela asks, stopping abruptly and trying to focus her drunken eyes at me.

"You slept with your grad student," I remind her.

"Righhht. You're really pretty, Eddy," Angela says, falling towards me. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No, Angela. I don't have a girlfriend." Fuck, why does it feel like these cabs are eighty kilometers away?

"I could be your girlfriend. You're a good kisser. Hey Jessica? Did I mention that EddyBeddy is a good kisser? Kiss her Edward!" Angela starts laughing and trying to push Jessica towards me.

Fuck, just kill me now. Jessica just rolls her eyes, and we drag Angela the rest of the way down the street to the line of cabs.

I open the back door of one of the cabs and lift Angela into the seat. "You ok to take her home?" I ask Jessica, praying she says yes, because that's the fucking last thing I want to do.

"Yeah, we live together. It's ok," she says, walking around to the other side of the cab. There is a God.

"Thanks, Jessica. Angela, I hope you feel better in the morning," I say, trying to shut the door.

Angela smiles back at me and leans half way out of the cab. "Come home with me, ReadyEddie. Please, pretty please?" She pouts and pulls on my arm.

I straighten back from her and step back up onto the sidewalk. "No, but thanks, Angela."

"You're no fun at all," she says, slumping back against the seat.

"Thanks, Edward. Angela is right, you are a really good guy," Jessica says. Fuck me. I'm a good guy? This is so fucked up.

I shut the door to the cab and watch it pull away. I could really use a drink. A drink and Bella. Tonight has been fucking full of bullshit. I've been dealt a virtual bomb from Carlisle, then Emmett and Rose and their ridiculous plan which has clearly backfired, and now Angela.

I need to get back to the loft. There's so many emotions flowing through me right now, I need to get them out, but I also just don't want to leave Bella in there with Chef Hans. The thought of her going home with him is just about killing me, because if Bella's going home with anyone it's damn well going to be me.

Seeing Angela tonight has been a massive wake up call. To think that I was seriously considering spending the rest of my life with her gives me a full body shiver. She doesn't hold a fucking candle to Bella. No one does.

I also know I've been sent into a tailspin of emotion with Carlisle's dump of information. My brain is working a mile a minute, and suddenly, I'm acutely aware of how much time I've already wasted; wasted with random women and one night stands, wasted with this ridiculous game that Bella and I seem to have inexplicably fallen into. I don't want to play games anymore.

I turn and start back up the street towards the bar. I get to the door, and over the irritating hip hop blaring out, I hear Bella's unmistakably loud and extremely drunk voice drift to me from half way down the other end of the street.

"I don't play games. Well, maybe only with one person." She laughs loudly, but somehow it sounds off, like she's nervous or something.

I narrow my eyes to try to focus on what the hell is going on. It's dark, but I can see her little body up against the wall of the building, and some asshole has got his hands on either side of her face. What the fuck is this?

I pick up the pace, the blood racing through my veins. He's leaning in towards her. I can't hear what the fuck he's saying. I can't see her face, so I don't even know if she likes what he's saying. Fuck, why did I leave her in there? And where the hell is Chef Mike or Emmett for that matter? Why would they let her leave when she's clearly wasted?

I'm finally close enough to see her and now I'm really pissed off, because clearly she's scared and panicked. Her eyes are wide as he stares down at her like she's some defenseless prey just waiting to be pounced on…which quite frankly, right now she is.

"Why don't you tell me your name and then we can play?" This guy's voice is rough and low and…vaguely familiar.

"Play?" she asks innocently, staring back at him like a deer in the headlights. She's got no idea how tempting she is.

"Bella!" I yell as I finally come within arms length of her. The guy pulls away from her and whips his hoodie up onto his head. He turns from me so I can't see his face, which is probably a good thing because it would be smashed into the ground if I could see it.

I come to a stop mere inches from her and the guy bolts down the street. Bella cowers and then, very subtly, slides her body towards me. "Bella, I think you should go inside," I say through gritted teeth while I stare at this asshole as he picks up the pace, breaking into a run.

Yeah, you fucker. You better run. I take a step away from Bella and towards this jerk because right now there is nothing more I'd like to do than to pound the shit out him.

"Edward, don't. I'm not worth it," Bella says quietly, bringing me immediately out of attack mode and reminding me that there is, in fact, other things I'd like to do right now.

I turn back to her and her face is flushed, she's breathing heavier, she looks like she's going to pass out. Holy shit, did he hurt her?

"Bella, are you alright? Did he hurt you?" I ask, a new wave of panic and adrenaline hitting my system.

She shakes her head, tilts forward slightly, and then starts laughing. I don't know what's so fucking funny about this right now.

"There's nothing funny about this, Bella. You could have been really hurt by that asshole," I say sharply.

"We were just playin' a game. And why do you care, anyway, Edward?" she asks drunkenly, trying to straighten up and sound all authoritative.

"I care, Bella. What are you doing out here by yourself?" I ask, realizing I'm sounding a bit parental and probably slightly annoying.

"I can take care of myself, Edward," she says, turning to take a step and tripping forward. I catch her around the waist from behind before she falls. Holy fuck, I feel my dick brush against her ass.

She takes a sharp breath in, her upper body stiffens and she turns back to me, staring up, biting her lip, looking like she's going to cry. Her little body pressed against mine is shaking. This fucker has really scared her and now I'm sorry I didn't go after him, I'm sorry I decided to make her jealous, I'm sorry for a lot of things.

"I'll take you home, ok? My car is just down the street," I suggest. Bella's house…inside her bedroom…putting her to bed. My dick twitches and that doesn't go unnoticed by Bella.

She blinks at me, her eyes glossy from too many shooters. "I should tell Rose and Alice. Oh, wait! Mikey! He's out here somewhere." Her eyes grow wide and she looks up and down the street frantically. Fuck Chef Mike. She's actually considering letting me take her home and now he's fucking ruining it.

"I'm sure Mike is fine. He's a big boy and you can call Rose from the car."

Her eyes roll back in her head slightly and she leans into me. I'm immediately overcome with how she feels; warm and perfect. She nestles her face into my chest and I stifle a groan.

"I should go back to the bar," she mutters into my shirt.

"Bella, you need to get home. Stop being so stubborn and just let me help you." Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen a more stubborn woman in my life.

"M'ok," she says. She sounds like she's going to fall asleep or something.

I'm kind of in shock that she's agreeing to someone helping her. "Ok?" I ask, pushing back from her slightly. Her eyes are closed and she's swaying a bit. Drunk Bella is just as hot as Sober Bella. She's got her eyes shut and is rocking rhythmically to some tune she's got going on only in her head. She lifts her hair up from her neck and tries to tie it in a pony tail while she continues to rock back and forth. Oh, sweet mother of God. I need to get her home and in bed. I mean not with me…although that's tempting as hell. She needs to sleep.

"Come on, Bella." I pull on her gently and she shuffles forward, still swaying her hips, which I, of course, immediately put my hands on to steady her.

"Watch it, Mr. Frisky," she says over her shoulder. I laugh and move my hand to her arm while we make our way to my car. Opening the door for her, she slips in, drops her bag on the floor, and rests her head into the seat.

I bring the seatbelt around her and buckle it into place, my fingers lightly touching her thigh before practically running to the driver's side. My heart is racing in my chest as she sits beside me and turns her head to watch me. The car is filled with the essence of her, wrapping me in a bubble of contentment that I don't ever want to escape from.

As she closes her eyes and listens to Tchaikovsky invade the car, I realize that it's quite possible she'll not even remember this in the morning. That the little steps we've taken tonight could all be washed away once she wakes up in the morning. I know that I have a lot of apologizing and explaining to do, regardless of whether or not she remembers. And now, I'm ready to do it. I'm ready to do whatever the fuck she wants.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out her cell phone. She presses a few buttons and then holds it up to her ear, her hand shaking. I continue to drive towards her house and she rolls her eyes. "Voice mail," she says. "Hey, hey hey, Rose. It's Bella. You rememba me? The person you guys are always tryin to set up? I'm just gettina ride home with Edward, so don't worry about me, ok? Okey dokey. Call me tomorrow, sistaaaaa." She laughs and throws her phone back into her bag. A drunk Bella is an interesting Bella, but I'd much rather her be sober so we can talk and finally figure this out.

"Hmm, Edward?" she asks, sleepily. "What was that guy's name again?"

I feel my fingers tighten around the steering wheel and my jaw set. "I don't know, Bella. Did he tell you his name?" Oh fuck, I'm fairly certain it's not a good idea for me to know who this guy is. I mean, clearly he didn't hurt her, but he certainly scared the hell out of her, and God only knows what he would have done if…

"John. No wait…" She looks up to the ceiling of the car as if it holds the name of this idiot. "Maybe it was George? No, that's not right. Hey, I'm just like you! I can't remember anybody's name either." She laughs. I deserve that…and a whole lot more. "Jason? Maybe it was Jason."

"I'm not sure, Bella. He's gone now, so you don't have to worry about him."

I'm rewarded with a drunken, yet genuine smile. I pull up in front of her house and turn the car off. She sighs and I get out, quickly moving to the passenger side and opening the door. She stays leaned back, her eyes closed, fumbling to push the button to release the seat belt. She finally is successful and smiles widely, looking extremely proud of herself.

I extend my hand into the car and -shock of all shocks-she actually takes it, allowing me to pull her gently out. I feel warmer instantly and calmer with her hand in mine. I shut the door and she releases my hand, fishing around in her bag. She pulls out her keys and waves them at me. "See? I'm good," she says.

I stay beside her, my hand ready to catch her in case she stumbles, while she takes the steps up to her door. She props the screen door open with her hip, and struggles to get the key into the lock. I fight the overwhelming urge to just do it for her, but she seems on a mission to prove a point, so I'm not going to stop her.

She finally gets the key in the lock and pushes the door open, looking over her shoulder at me and issuing me a satisfied smirk. I lean against the opened screen door, and she drops her bag on the floor, just staring at it.

"You ok, Bella?" I ask, fighting to not take the next step into her house until she asks me to.

"Mmm," she moans. Fuck me...don't do that right now. That sound is making me crazy. "Come in for a bit, Edward."

I take a sharp breath in, and hear the glorious sound of the screen door click into place behind me as I shut it. I shuffle forward and close the inner door, leaning against it.

I take a scan of her house. It's all earth tones and deep cinnamon colours, but nothing on the walls. Nothing? Minimalism at its best…revealing absolutely nothing to me about who she is. A generic, almost industrial feel in what would be an otherwise warm room. I could change that. I can actually see my paintings on her walls. This is where they need to be...this where they're supposed to be.

She runs her hands through her hair and then turns to me, tilting to one side. "Thank you, Edward. I'm pretty sure I woulda done something really, really stupid tonight with James," she says. My heart stops beating and her eyes grow wide. She stares back at me, her eyes a little less glossy than they were earlier. "That was his name…James. I think I need aspirin."

Holy fuck, so do I.

Chapter End Notes

**Well, what do you think of Edward now?**

**Up next, a Drunkella POV…the buzz of the alcohol is wearing off.**

**Twitter: CarLemon**

**Sigh- Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto Serenade for Strings in C major, Op. 48:**

**www(dot)youtube(dot).com/watch?v=xsGRglp6tvs**


	15. Chapter 15

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. April 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to my extremely talented beta, xrxdanixrx-who's also provided awesome banner on Twilighted! Check out her stories Hate Me, Here We Go Again and Don't Try To Save Me. She's amazing!**_

Thanks to all reading and reviewing.

A Drunkella POV. Let's see how things look once the buzz wears off shall we?

XXXXX

BPOV

Chapter 15

Edward stares down at me, leaning against my front door, his jaw set, his eyes clenched together, his hands balled into fists...its kind of a turn on in my completely drunken state right now. Holy fuck…hang on…Edward is in my house. I think I'm speechless, or dreaming. I pinch myself and it hurts…definitely not dreaming.

"Are you fucking sure his name was James, Bella?" he growls, keeping his eyes shut. He looks like he's actually shaking. I'm pretty sure the vein in his forehead is going to pop out any second.

I burst out laughing, 'cause that's just the way I roll when I'm drunk, apparently. "No, I'm not sure about anything right now, other than I'm really, really drunk." I lean on the back on the couch, trying hard to will the room to stop spinning.

He opens his eyes and the corners of his mouth turn up, like he's amused with me or something. Jesus he's fucking hot. Maybe it's too many shooters, or the fact that this is the first time I've had a man in my house in...well…a really long time, or maybe its the way his black shirt is clinging to his chest...yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what it is.

He takes a step towards me, giving me some sort of awe inducing stare, that makes every nerve in my body suddenly launch into hyper drive, or it could just be the tequila. "Where do you keep your aspirin?" he asks. "You're going to need it."

I blink up at him because, right now, I'm not sure where anything is, other than my nipples, which have decided to practically burst through my sweater.

"Umm." I look into the kitchen, because of course, that's where the fucking aspirin should be...Jesus I'm an idiot.

"The bathroom, maybe?" he asks, his voice low, soothing, and kind of intoxicating...or perhaps that's the gin.

Right, the bathroom! "It's down the hall." Which looks like its four thousand kilometres long right now. I push up from the back of the couch and take a step towards him, and of course, I trip because the stupid bruise on my other leg has decided now is the time to start pulsating uncontrollably and setting me off balance...or that may be the Grey Goose.

I start giggling...like I'm eighteen or something…eighteen and really drunk. You know, drunk like those dreadful high school dances where you would go with your friends into the woods behind the school and drink the entire mickey of peach schnapps and a two litre bottle of WildBerry Vodka Cooler. After which, you would saunter back into the dance and spin around in circles with said friends in the middle of the gym, until you threw up all over the chaperone…that kind of drunk.

His smile widens at me. Clearly, he's enjoying the fact that I'm wasted. If I wasn't drunk, I'm sure I'd be mad at him for looking at me like this, and I'd banter back and forth with him in some heated exchange...but right now, all I can do is giggle. I must sound like a complete idiot. I need to sober up because Edward in my house is something I think I want to remember.

He's staring down at me waiting, his eyes dark and kind of intense. I wish I knew what he was thinking right now...actually, maybe I don't. I'm sure he thinks I'm some sort of lightweight that can't handle liquor...which is only partially true. I can handle it...just maybe not so many different shooters, back to back, so close together. I'm still standing and talking, and I don't feel like I'm going to throw up, so take that, Edward! I _can_ handle my liquor.

"Bella?" God, my name sounds really good when he says it...it reminds me of warm melting chocolate, or something equally as delicious. I think he could recite the phone book and I'd be happy for the rest of my life.

What? _Steady, Bella!_ Take it down a notch. It's a good thing I'm not a guy, cause if I was, my dick would be coming through my...Whoa, hold the phone, his dick is looking rather uncomfortable and strained in his fucking hot jeans. What the hell is it with guys and jeans like this, hanging low from his hips, making me squirm?

_Supposed to be focusing, Bella!_ Remember, this guy fucked Lauren in the stairwell.

Somehow, that unwelcome thought sobers me up considerably. If I'm being honest, it's hard for me to wrap my drunken head around the Edward who would ensure the skinny, drunk, white dress fembot got home safely, and the Edward who would bring skanky Lauren to orgasm in my stairwell. It just doesn't make sense to me, but then, I'm sure not much is making sense to me right now.

I shake my head and walk as straight as I possibly can down the hall to the bathroom. He follows closely, and it would be really, really easy for me to pretend to fall and have him catch me again, but each step I take to the bathroom reminds me that I shouldn't.

I stop in the middle of the hallway and turn around to him, almost crashing into his chest, which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. _Focus Bella!_ "Music…I think we need music. Would you like to listen to music, Edward?" I ramble, because even though I'm sobering up, I'm still feeling a buzz, and therefore, unable to stop talking.

He laughs quietly, probably one of the single sexiest sounds I think I've ever heard in my entire life. "You want to listen to music now?" he asks, because obviously, that's a ridiculous thing for me to want to do. I mean, seriously…what do I think we're going to do here? Sit around in my living room, sipping back Keith's, and talking about our feelings, while Arcade Fire plays in the background? That's definitely not happening…at least not with Edward Cullen.

And suddenly, the buzz from however many shooters I haphazardly consumed has faded, and I'm left standing here, toe to toe with Edward…in my hallway…his eyes burning, his chest rising and falling heavily, though why he's still here, I'm not really sure. So, because I can, I ask him.

"What are you still doing here, anyway? I mean, I'm home safe. Your super hero duties have been fulfilled for another night. You would probably feel more comfortable back at your painting cave."

"Painting cave? Is that like the bat cave?" he asks, smirking at me.

"You know what I mean," I say, waving my hand dismissively at him.

"Do you want me to go?" he asks so quietly that I can barely hear him. I look up at him, his chiseled jaw pronounced under the subdued lighting of my hallway, and the only thing I can think is, no. I don't want him to go. Ok, so that's not the _only_ thing I'm thinking. But, whatever insane ideas I may have about Edward dragging me into my bedroom and ravaging me all night are not going to happen anytime soon…and especially not when I've had this much to drink, and probably not in this lifetime.

"No, actually I don't want you to go." I hear the words coming out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. A look of relief comes over his face, which kind of confuses me. Doesn't he _want _to go? I mean, I'm home…clearly nothing is happening here. I'm sure he's got a not so little black book that's two feet thick of much more interesting and beautiful women he could be with right now. I wish I was in that book. Fuck! I hate that this is awkward, and so, because I'm still partially drunk, I guess, I start apologizing.

"I'msorrybouttheflowers." What the hell? Am I even speaking English? He furrows his eyebrows together and cocks his head to the side.

"What?" he asks, laughing at me.

"The flowers. I'm sorry," I say, staring at my hardwood floor, which reminds me that I need to vacuum before the gang comes over on Sunday.

"Why did you send them back? I thought this morning…" His voice trails, and he sounds…sad, disappointed?

"I'm a bitch. That's why." It's amazing the reality that comes out of your mouth when you're drunk. I'm fully aware that my behaviour with Edward is worthy of the title of bitch of the year, and I just really wish I could turn back the clock and start all over again.

"No, Bella. You're not a bitch. I don't believe that. I know that there's a reason you massacred them and sent them back. I just don't know what it is."

"I had a talk with Lauren," I say, leaning against the wall. God, my leg hurts. I can only imagine the bruise that's forming there. His eyes grow wide, and then he shuts them…clearly he's guilty as charged.

"This is about the other day? When you saw us outside?" he asks horrified.

"No. Although, that probably is a good enough reason. This is about your little Stairwell Rendezvous. I mean, Edward, really? Fucking someone in a stairwell? Right outside my office? How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I didn't fuck Lauren, Bella," he says with determination, his eyes scorching, his voice low and in control, and I believe him. "We fooled around, but I didn't fuck her." He shifts towards me. "How _did_ it make you feel?"

"Sick to my stomach." This revelation is a massive wake up call for me. I do feel sick about Edward and Lauren and whatever it is "fooling around" actually means to him. I feel sick because it happened in my stairwell, and I feel sick because it happened with Lauren who I now have to face every single day, and who secretly wants to take him to the auction, most likely to finish whatever it was they started. I'm sick at myself because secretly, I want Edward to push _me_ up against a wall and loose control. God, I'm pathetic.

"Why?"

"Because it's just wrong, Edward. You can't just go around and ask me out, and then 'fool around' a millisecond later with somebody else." I put the words "fool around" in air quotes, because that's what you do when you're coming down from being inebriated.

"Why not? I mean, you turned me down, very clearly if memory serves." Ouch. But, once again, I'm impressed with Edward who isn't afraid to call me out when I clearly deserve it. I mean, seriously? I did turn him down. Why shouldn't he go off with someone else?

"I shouldn't have turned you down." Oh, no. Did that actually just come out of my mouth?

"You shouldn't have?" he asks, looking confused. I shake my quasi-drunken head at him. "I don't understand…"

"You don't have to understand. I don't understand myself, especially right now. Did I tell you I had seven shooters in a row tonight?" Yes! Change the subject, Bella!

"No, you didn't tell me that. Maybe we should get you that aspirin so you can lie down," he suggests.

"Ok, _Dad,_" I say, poking him in the chest with my finger. I turn and make my way, on shaky steps, to the bathroom. Actually, Edward is right; aspirin is going to be my friend…if I can find it.

I stop just before the bathroom door and turn back to him because I want to make sure I understand him correctly, and that I'm not just imagining things in the quarter-drunken phase that I'm currently in. "You really don't think I'm a bitch?" I ask seriously…well as seriously as I can right now.

He shakes his head slowly at me and leans against the wall. "No, Bella. I don't think you're a bitch. I think you're struggling. I think maybe you're a bit lost. I think you would like everyone to believe that you're a bitch because that's easier than letting someone into your life," he says purposefully, like he's thought about this for a while.

"When did you get your psychology degree, Freud? I thought you were an artist," I challenge, issuing him the patented Bella stare.

"I _am_ an artist. I don't see things the way everybody else does. That's why I can see what you're trying to hide." Well fuck, I don't think I have a come back for that right now, so I turn on my heel and walk into the bathroom.

I switch on the light and open the vanity mirror…which takes me a couple of tries before I can actually open it. Edward is just standing beside me, taking in my every move and is clearly amused, so I plant my hand in the middle of his chest, which makes me take a sharp breath in because, just as I thought, it's hard as a rock and feels really, really good under my fingers.

His eyes widen and I push him against the wall. "Edward, why did you come back?"

He gulps. "Wha…What do you mean?" he asks tentatively.

"Why did you come back to the bar? Was the random white dressed tramp not interesting enough for you?"

"Bella, I didn't do anything with Angela. She was wasted. I put her into a cab, and sent her home to sleep it off," he admits.

"You know her?" Of course he knows her! She's probably lucky enough to be in the big black book of Edward's conquests. Fuck, what am I thinking? I don't want to just be a conquest. Not of Edward's, not of anyone's.

I really need that aspirin. The shooter buzz is gone completely, and my head is starting to get annoyed with the fact that it's not on a pillow right now.

"Angela and I used to live together," he says quietly.

"Used to?" Fuck, it's more serious than just a random name in a black book. Who would have thought that Edward would live with someone? The idea makes me simultaneously jealous and curious. "Of course you did," I say sourly. I wonder if she made him breakfast in the mornings, whether she ever posed for him, why they don't still live together.

"What does that mean, 'of course you did?'" he asks.

"Nothing. It doesn't even matter." I try to turn from him to get the aspirin, but his hand is on my arm, twisting me back to him. What is it with him and twisting my arm? Does he _want_ me to fall again?

"Of course it matters, Bella. Talk to me. We can't keep doing this." He stares down at me, his eyes pleading and hopeful, and of course, I retract my arm from him because there's a bolt of energy that has decided to radiate through my body from him touching me.

"Where did I put that aspirin?" I reach around him and pull out the bottle from the tiny shelf. I manage to knock down several other items into the sink in the process, including, of course, my birth control pills, which I only take to regulate my stupid cycle…like I'd need them for anything else, and four old, I'm sure outdated condoms that Rose bought me ages ago on one of her 'I'm-going-to-get-Bella-laid' quests. I turn back to him, trying to hide the contents of the sink with my body. I hand him the bottle of aspirin and he opens it, shaking out three of the lovely tablets into my hand.

He squeezes beside me, effectively pushing me out of the way, and raises an eyebrow when he looks in the sink. I feel myself turn red and I swipe the contents of the sink out, pushing them back into the cupboard while he chuckles at me.

I watch as he nimbly extracts one of the Dixie cups from the counter and turns on the water. His fingers are long, lean, and skillful, with the faint remains of colour splotches under his nails. I wonder what he's been painting today. I'd like to see more of Edward's paintings. What little I did see intrigued me. I'd like to ask him how he goes about deciding what to paint. Is it some methodical, step by step process, or does he just paint from his heart? I think from what I've seen, it's the latter, but I'm not entirely sure.

He lets the water run off of his fingers and into the sink, testing it for how cold it is, I guess…like it matters, but it seems to matter to him. When he's satisfied with the temperature, he fills the cup, and then licks the stray droplets of water from his fingers. Holy crap! I think my heart just stopped.

"Here, drink up." He holds the cup out to me, and watches like some sort of overbearing, scolding, dominating…whoa, ok need to stop this line of thinking. I can't even begin to contemplate a dominating Edward right now. Holy fuck, is it hot in here?

I gulp back the tablets and drink down the water dutifully, handing him back the empty cup. I feel like I should get a reward or something for listening to him. God, it's been a really long night.

"I'm tired, Edward. I just want to go to bed." I know it sounds like I'm whining. I'm almost annoying myself at this point. But, like always, since the accident happened, I can't just go flop down on my bed and pass out in a fading drunken haze, even though that's exactly what I want to do. No, because, I have a routine to do. A routine that I think I'm going to need some help with. It will either make Edward realize that I am a complete and total waste of his time, or…I'm not sure I want to think about _or _right now.

I turn and sit down on the edge of the tub, while he looks back at me like I'm crazy; probably because I just said I want to go to bed, and now, I'm sitting on the tub like some freakish loser.

"I can help you get to bed, Bella," he says quietly. Jesus, this man is beautiful. He's got no idea what I'm about to ask him to help me with. I feel mortified about having to ask. But I need help. It's amazing to me that it took getting shit-faced and rescued to admit that I need help.

He's just standing there, holding out his hand to me. I'm sure he thinks he can just take me to the bed, tuck me in, and leave me to sleep off the final remains of my night of semi-debauchery. That couldn't be further from my reality, and suddenly, I'm really afraid.

This is probably the single most personal thing I could ever let anyone see or help me with. A constant reminder of what my life has become. How I'm always going to be different from everyone else, and how I just want someone to accept it; to accept me, to try to understand this without passing judgment. I know that's hypocritical of me, especially since I've done nothing but pass judgment on Edward since the day I met him. That's not the person I want to be.

"Come on," he urges, taking another step towards me.

"I can't go to bed," I mutter.

"You need to go to bed, Bella. You're drunk, and you need to sleep this off. Come on, I'll help you lie down." Oh, if only it was that easy.

"Edward, I can't just go lie down," I say forcefully.

"Of course you can. Come on," he urges. Oh my God. I don't know if I can do this. I can feel the tears threatening. Only Renee and my surgeon have ever helped me with this. Jake has never even done my nightly routine with me. My heart races in my chest, and I'm sure I feel the colour drain from my face. This is it. This is the precise moment when he's going to bolt from this room and my life, and never look back.

He squats down beside me, looking up at me, his eyes searching, looking for something to tell him what to do. "Bella, I'll help you into bed. It's ok."

I take a deep breath. "Edward, I can't just go lie down like a normal person and fall asleep. I need...I need to..." Oh God, I feel the damn break, and the tears stain my cheeks. "I need to take care of my leg first." My voice sounds small as it echoes in the confines of my bathroom. There is only silence while I stare down at him, gauging his reaction and waiting for him to run.

I wouldn't blame him if he did. This is a hell of a lot to deal with, especially for someone like Edward, who is, I'm sure, used to beautiful people and flawless skin. There's nothing beautiful or flawless about this. I've learned to live with it and accept it, but can he? Do I want him to?

I rack my brain for a backup plan. Rose and Alice are out. They've probably had more to drink than I have, and as such, would be useless. I'm also extremely pissed off at them for their lame excuse of a plan tonight, and even though I know their hearts are in the right place, I can't imagine asking them for help right now.

I could probably do a quick and messy version of the routine, and fix everything in the morning, but then, getting to my bedroom when I'm coming off my drunken buzz, on a leg that is fucking bruised beyond belief, pulsating and shaking, is not going to be easy for me to do by myself. If I take another fall, I'm actually a little concerned about what damage I might do.

I hold my breath and watch as he looks down at my leg, and then very deliberately, back up at me, his eyes clear and focused.

Never breaking his gaze, he very gently places his hand on my waist, and then runs it slowly over my jeans, down my thigh, stopping precisely where my prosthetic begins.

He takes a deep breath and sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip before his calm, smooth voice rings out to me. "Just tell me what to do."

XXXXX

Chapter End Notes

**Hmmm…what next? EPOV.**

**Some of you were wondering about James-he was introduced a few chapters back-he owns the art supply store and is a budding artist himself. Jane also represents him.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! **

**For those wondering, this story is on Twilighted: www(dot)**twilighted(dot)net (slash) viewstory(dot) php?sid=10908

**Twitter: CarLemon**


	16. Chapter 16

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. May 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to my wonderful beta, xrxdanixrx, who's also provided awesome banner! Check out her stories Hate Me, Here We Go Again, Don't Try To Save Me and now At Your Own Risk. She's amazing!**_

Thanks to all reading and reviewing. It makes my day…truly!

Let's see what Edward thinks about this whole thing, shall we?

EPOV

Chapter 16

Jesus Christ her ass is a fucking piece of art. I follow her down the hall like I'm in a trance or something. I know this is wrong right now. She's completely wasted, but it's all I can do not to push her up against the wall. Wait…holy fuck…_she's_ pushing _me. _Her little hand is planted against my chest and coaxing me towards the wall in the bathroom...her eyes dark, her cheeks flushed, her breathing elevated. This isn't how this is supposed to happen...no wait…it's exactly how it's supposed to happen. It's how I've imagined it happening countless times before; just not with her so drunk that she won't remember it in the morning.

"Edward, why did you come back?" she asks, running her hand up my chest, stopping it at my shoulder.

Whoa, what? I can't even think straight. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you come back to the bar? Was the random white dressed tramp not interesting enough for you?" Oh, of course. She thinks something happened with Angela. Fuck, I'm an idiot. So much time wasted already with this stupid game we're in.

"Bella, I didn't do anything with Angela. She was wasted. I put her into a cab and sent her home," I explain.

She takes a shaky step back and grips the sink to steady herself. She looks like she's in shock…or like she's going to throw up. Oh, please don't throw up. I don't think I can handle another puke fest tonight.

"You know her?" she asks.

I nod my head. "Yeah. Angela and I used to live together."

"Used to?" she asks. Oh no. Her eyes are glazing over. This isn't the time to have this conversation. I want her to remember this. I want her to know that Angela doesn't mean anything to me anymore.

"Of course you did," she says sourly.

"What does that mean, 'of course you did'?"

"Nothing. It doesn't even matter." She sounds dejected, and I see her start to shut down on me. Well, that or the alcohol is finally winning the battle.

"Of course it matters, Bella. Talk to me. We can't keep doing this." Fuck, what I wouldn't give to turn back the clock, to start this over again.

"Where did I put that aspirin?" she asks, reaching around me and leaning over so I can see right down her sweater. She opens a small mirrored cabinet door above the sink. Fuck me. Her breasts are pushed up and almost out of her sweater. She's clearly trying to kill me. She fumbles around, knocking some shit into the sink, and then holds out a small bottle of aspirin to me. She looks up all sweet and innocent and fucking tempting.

I move beside her, heat radiating off her little body, and take a look into the sink. What the fuck is she doing with condoms? I can feel my blood boil at the mere thought of her with somebody else. Not that I think that's happened recently. I mean, she said herself that she doesn't date. I push the unwelcome thought of Bella with someone other than me to the back of my mind while she scoops out the contents of the sink, shoving everything back into the cupboard.

I hand her some aspirin and pour her a cup of water. She has these cute little Dixie cups with fish on them. I smile as hold the cup out to her. She's staring at my hands, a mesmerized look on her face. Oh shit. I think she might be close to passing out. She swallows the aspirin and drinks the water down. "I'm tired, Edward. I just want to go to bed." My dick strains while she turns and sits on the edge of the tub, which I'm a little confused about. If she's tired, we need to be getting her into the bedroom…and another twitch…yes, I know, but you need to get a grip down there…fuck, this isn't helping.

"I can help you," I offer, holding out my hand to her. She just stares up at me all confused and drunk and fucking beautiful. "Come on."

"I can't go to bed," she says quietly. Oh, if I have to carry her into her bedroom myself I will. Again…with dick twitching…why does it pick the worst times to fucking wake up? Oh, who am I kidding? It's always awake around Bella; wide awake and extremely needy right now. I try to convince her to let me help her to the bed, but she just keeps sitting there, not wanting to move.

"Edward, I can't just go lie down," she says. I swear to God, she's the most stubborn woman on the planet.

"Of course you can. Come on." Her eyes glaze over, and now I'm afraid she's going to tip back into the tub. I squat down beside her and try, yet again, to talk her into cooperating. I'm about a second away from just throwing her over my shoulder and…

"Edward, stop it. I can't just go lie down like a normal person and fall asleep. I need...I need to..." she trails off. Oh God, now she's crying. What the fuck does she need to do? Brush her teeth? Some secret nighttime ritual women always do? What the hell? That can all wait.

"I need to take care of my leg first." Her voice is barely audible while she looks down at me, tears silently spilling from her eyes.

My heart stops beating. Oh, of course she does. Why am I so stupid?

Her eyes search mine, her chest rising and falling deeply. I trail my hand down from her waist over top of her fuck hot jeans to where I feel her artificial leg start. "Just tell me what to do," I say.

I run my hand down the hem of her jeans and, never breaking eye contact, I roll the fabric up to her thigh. She takes a shaky breath in, fresh tears escaping. "Edward," she breathes. Her whole body is shaking, and all I can see, all I can feel is her.

She runs both of her hands down her thigh and over my hands, bringing them to the top of her artificial leg. She guides my hands to either side of it. She twists her hands, and then the weight of the leg is in my hands. She removes her hands and puts them to either side of her on the tub.

Holy fuck, my heart is racing in my chest, our eyes still locked, she nods her head slowly and I pull the leg away from her.

"Now what?" It doesn't even sound like my voice. It's shaking, much like my entire body is right now. That she's letting me do this is more than a massive step. It's intimate, erotic, trusting; she's putting her faith in me. It's overwhelming. I need to fucking paint.

"There are fresh cloths under the sink, and liquid soap. Can you bring them to me?" she asks, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Yeah." I set her limb down gingerly on the bath mat and move to the cupboard under the sink. Opening it, I see an array of cloths, washes, soap…oh her soap...I'd like to take a bar of that home with me after I rub it all over her body..._focus, Cullen!_ I pick up a cloth and a bottle, which looks like some sort of soap solution, and turn back to her.

Her tears are falling more quickly now. "Bella, baby, please don't cry. I want to do this. Let me help you."

I set the cloth and the bottle beside her artificial leg and pick it back up, relishing in how it feels in my hands. It's perfect; she is perfect.

She holds out her hands to me and I place the limb into them. "Wet the cloth with warm water, and then put some of the soap on to it," she whispers. I comply, moving to the sink to wet the cloth, trying not to let her see my trembling hands. I return to her and she takes the cloth from me and wipes out the inside of the leg repeatedly, methodically. "Like this." She holds the prosthetic towards me and I take the cloth from her, running it in and around the inside of the leg just as she showed me, gently, carefully, trying to commit to memory how it feels in my hands. "Now you need to rinse it. So, just wet a new cloth." I follow her instructions, wetting a new cloth at the sink while I watch her reflection in the mirror as she studies her thigh carefully. I move back to her with the wet cloth. "I need to get all the soap off, or it might irritate my skin." She sweeps the wet cloth inside the socket until she's satisfied. "Now I need to dry it."

"Dry it? Like with a hair dryer?" I ask. She bursts out laughing, probably the most wonderful sound I've ever heard in my life. It sounds like music, like heaven.

"No, with a dry cloth," she says, brushing the tears from her cheeks. I pick up another cloth, resisting the temptation to give her one of my usual snide come backs. I so don't want to ruin this moment, and I know any wrong move I make could easily do that. I hand her the cloth and watch as she meticulously dries the limb. "Like this." She holds it out to me again. "You have to make sure it's totally dry before putting it back on."

I take the dry cloth and run it gently, repeatedly around the inside of her limb. I look up at her and she's watching me intently, her eyes fixated on my face.

"What now?" I ask.

"I need to wash my thigh," she breathes.

Holy fuck. I gulp and stare back at her. "How?"

"I need to get my jeans off first. Can you help me stand?" I set the leg down on the mat and leap up, holding my arms out to her. She pushes up off the side of the tub, holding on to my arms tightly, her breasts pushed against me. _For the love of Christ._ I hold her steady as she works her fingers on the button of her jeans and then slowly wiggles them down. I stare up at the ceiling, because if I look down, there's absolutely no turning back, and I want her to be sober when we finally do this.

She shifts back and sits down on the edge of the tub, pulling the jeans down so now, she's just sitting there in her sweater and whatever she has on under the jeans. Holy fuck I want to see what she has on. My mind is reeling with the possibilities, but I keep my eyes glued to the ceiling, running through all the artists I studied at Queen's…alphabetically.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?" I close my eyes and wait.

"I just need a new wet cloth with some soap on it." I grab another cloth, wetting it and squeezing some soap onto it. I hand it back to her. She takes off a thin piece of fabric from her thigh and then slowly begins to wash her skin. I think I've stopped breathing altogether while I watch her little fingers rub the cloth in slow circles. She stops and studies her thigh carefully.

"A dry one now?" I ask. She nods her head at me, and I hand her another cloth, watching her, mesmerized as she dries it off. "There's lanolin lotion on the counter. Can you get it?"

Fuck, lotion? Is she serious? She's trying to kill me. I turn from her and scan the counter, finding a large bottle of lotion and bring it back to her. I try to focus on her eyes, which are darker than they were a few minutes ago. Oh, what I wouldn't give to know what she's thinking.

She takes the lotion from me and squirts a small amount into her hands. She holds the bottle out to me, and I put it back on the counter and then lean against it. I watch her as she rubs circles, working the lotion into the skin on her thigh.

She raises her eyes to me. "Come here," she whispers. Oh my God. I'm over to her in a nanosecond, standing in front of her, looking down and awaiting her next command. I'll do whatever the fuck she wants right now. This woman owns me totally, completely, to the core.

"I usually rub in circles. It relaxes the stump. If I don't, sometimes it's sore in the morning, or there might by chaffing," she explains. "I have to watch for inflammation or dry skin, scraps, that sort of stuff."

"So, every night, this is what you have to do?" Fuck. I suddenly feel guilty for every single time I just drop into bed without doing fuck all.

She nods her head as she continues to rub the lotion into her thigh. "I have to rinse out and dry the cloths, too, and the inner sock." She lifts her head to the thin piece of material that now sits beside her leg.

"I can do that," I suggest, because quite frankly, I need a distraction from watching her massage her thigh. I turn back to the sink, glad to be set to task on this. I try to keep my mind from remembering that she's sitting there...half naked...completely vulnerable and exposed to me. God I want her. I want her more than I've ever wanted anyone or anything in my entire life. I concentrate on rinsing out the cloths and this inner sock, me and my shaky hands. I can see her reflection in the mirror as she watches me, and then examines her leg closely.

I finish rinsing and then turn back to her, my fingers digging into the sink. "They go on the drying rack," she says quietly. She lifts her head to a small rack beside the counter and I place them gingerly over the top and lean against the wall, trying to breathe. There's never been a more intense or emotional experience in my life than this.

I move my eyes down from her face because I just can't help myself, and I take a gasp in. "Holy fuck, Bella."

"What?"

"The bruise on your other leg," I say, narrowing my eyes. I take two long strides across the room to her and crouch down beside her. It's black, blue, red, and massive. "Is this what happened when you fell today?" She nods her head at me. "I'm so sorry. I think you should get this looked at don't you?"

My fingers fall just beside her leg on the tub, grazing her thigh gently. It quivers slightly. "I think I have bigger problems than a stupid bruised leg, Edward."

"It looks sore," I say.

"It is. But I've had a lot worse," she admits

"Do you want ice or something for it?" I ask. Fuck, why did I ask that? Ice and Bella's naked leg? Jesus, I'm a nanosecond away from coming right now.

"No. Can you just help me to bed?" she asks, her eyes squeezed shut. My mouth goes dry and I lift my eyes to her, furrowing my brow. "I mean, normally I would just hop, but I've had a lot to drink and I don't want to fall down...again."

"Yeah, of course," I say. I stand up and wrap my arm around her waist, lifting her off the tub and into my side. She fits perfectly right in the crook of my arm, under my shoulder, right where she belongs. She leans into me and then takes a hop towards the door. I stay at her side until we're in the hallway.

"My bedroom is this one," she says, pointing across the hall. Jesus Christ, I'm about to go into Bella's bedroom. I swallow loudly and stay with her as she leans further into me.

We enter the room and my eyes fall to a Queen sized bed under a large picture window with a dark grey comforter over it. I scan the walls, looking for something, anything to give me a clue to this woman, and am once again disappointed. There's nothing on these walls, either.

She hops another step and because I'm fucking fixated to the floor, overwhelmed about being in her room for the first time, I don't move with her. She stumbles in her now semi-drunkenstate and and I have to lunge to catch her. "Sorry about that," I breathe, looking down at her. Her hair has fallen in front of her face, and I can't resist brushing it behind her ear. "Fuck, Bella, you are so beautiful."

"Edward." She looks up at me all pleading and wanting and I feel the fire explode inside of me, crashing my lips to hers as I pick her up and lay her gently on the bed. She answers the kiss, moaning and writhing under me, my dick straining to get closer to the promised land. Our tongues move urgently together and she tastes fucking unbelievable, like vodka and cranberry and just Bella.

I press my torso further into her, and am rewarded by her hands tugging at my hair. Oh fuck, pull it harder, baby. She turns her head, exposing her glorious neck to me, and I plunge into it, raking my teeth against it, licking, tasting, wanting more. Fuck, I can't do this…not when she's drunk and doesn't know what she's doing.

"Bella," I say against her lips.

"Edward, please," she whines.

Jesus, don't beg me. I'm hanging on by a thread here. "I want to, Bella. I really, really want to. I just...you've had a lot to drink and I want you to remember, baby. You need to remember the first time, every time we do this," I murmur, resting my forehead on hers.

"When did you turn into the good guy, eh? First you're helping Angela, then you're saving me, now you're wanting to wait. If I didn't know better, I'd say you've gone soft or something."

"I've always been the good guy, Bella. I was just lost; really lost, until you. And trust me, around you, there's nothing soft," I mutter, pushing my embarrassingly hard erection into her, and she groans.

She pulls on the back of my neck and lifts her head off the pillow, bringing her lips to mine. "Thank you, Edward," she says against my lips. "Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?"

"Of course I'll stay. I'll stay as long as you want." I'll stay forever.

She rests her head on the pillow and curls away from me. She puts her hand over mine and wraps it around her little waist, her ass jutting out against my groin. _Jesus…for the love of God._ I close my eyes, breathing her in, and she falls immediately into a deep sleep. I listen to her elevated breathing, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel completely at ease. Like this is the place I'm supposed to be.

Tonight, I've fucking reached my limit on the band of emotions that I've been hit with; a fucking roller coaster ride from hell that has led me to my little version of heaven. I can only hope that karma is, for once in my life, on my side in the morning. That she remembers something, anything from tonight that will give me a chance to show her how I feel. I fall asleep, clinging to that hope.

xxxxxx

A fucking really loud pounding is pissing me off, and its way too early in the Goddamn morning. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping the sound will just stop and I can move closer to Bella, hopefully wake her up and fuck her senseless. But it continues, and now there's a deep voice calling out. "Bella?"

What the fuck? I drag my sorry ass out of bed, because whoever the fuck this is needs to learn his Goddamn place, which is not pounding on Bella's door demanding that she open it at whatever the fuck time it is.

I shut the bedroom door behind me and move quickly to the front door, hauling it open. I take a step back as the most in shape man I've ever seen in my life stares back at me open mouthed.

He's got on tight black running shorts and a dark blue Nike tank top. His biceps are fucking massive. He narrows his eyes at me. "Who the fuck are you?" he asks. This asshole is a real charmer.

"I think you better answer that question, man. What are _you_ doing pounding on Bella's door this early in the morning?"

"She didn't show up for our run. I got worried. It's not like her. Is she here?" He careens his neck trying to look into the house.

"She's sleeping," I say, stepping to the side, blocking his view.

"She's sleeping?" he asks skeptically.

"Yeah, that's what I said." You idiot.

"I'm Jake." He sticks a massive hand out to me and I shake it. He's gripping it really hard and this is the hand I paint with, so I recoil it from him.

"Edward."

"Edward. Huh, she hasn't mentioned you. Who would you be to her?" he asks as if they're life long best friends or something, and I owe this ass an answer. He narrows his eyes at me. Oh, don't you fucking dare start with me. I'm your fucking worst nightmare, that's who I'd be you dick.

"Who would _you_ be to her?" I challenge him.

"I'm her physiotherapist and her friend. A very good friend," he says with a tone of warning in his voice. I think he just flexed his fuck hard muscles at me.

Like fuck he's a very good friend. This fucker wants her. That much is painfully clear. But her physiotherapist? Fuck, he knows her...better than I do I realize, and that doesn't sit well. "I'll tell her you stopped by." I move to shut the door, and his massive hand is stopping it.

"Make sure you do, Edward," he sneers at me in some kind of Neanderthal like warning.

I shut the door, a little too forcefully in his face, and hear Bella moan from the bedroom. I make my way back to her, trying to forget that I ever laid eyes on Mr. Roids. Bella is lying on her side, her thigh outside the comforter, her hair splayed on the pillow. She's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. "Close your eyes and go back to sleep, Bella," I whisper.

"Jake? I'm supposed to run with…" Her voice trails and I smile, watching her drift back to sleep. So, now I've got a dilemma on my hands. Do I crawl back into bed with her, do I sit and watch her, do I make breakfast? I decide to get back into bed, it's just too fucking tempting not to, and I have no idea when I'm going to get this chance again. I wrap my arm around her waist and she nudges back into me. "Mmmm, Edward," she mumbles.

Holy fuck, the world has stopped turning. I want her to say my name like that again. I shut my eyes and savour this feeling, hoping when she finally does wake up, at least she remembers part of what happened last night.

xxxxxx

"Edward?" I wake to her voice calling me. Whoa, wait…hold on…she's not beside me. "Edward?"

"Hmm, Bella." I squeeze my eyes tighter and roll over to where she was sleeping.

I hear her sweet laughter, and my eyes fly open. She's standing beside the bed, fully dressed, staring down at me. What? Wait, no. This isn't supposed to be happening like this. "What's going on?" I ask.

"I have a date," she says smirking at me.

"What the fuck?" Oh shit, inside voice Edward.

She raises an eyebrow to me. "With Alice and Rose. We're going shopping and if I'm late, I'll never hear the end of it."

I sit up and rub my eyes. "What time is it?'

"Around eight-thirty," she says.

"Are you ok to go? I mean, you're not hung over?" I've got to say, I'm more than a little surprised. I mean, she was pretty wasted.

"I've felt better in my life, but the aspirin you gave me last night seems to have helped."

"You remember last night?" I'm shocked and moderately encouraged.

"Mostly, yes. Though parts are sketchy, if I'm being honest," she says, scowling.

"Oh," I say, like a loser.

"Edward, I need to thank you for last night. I'm pretty sure I would have been spending the night on bathroom floor if you weren't here…or worse." She shakes her head.

"It's ok, Bella. I'm glad I was here." You have no idea how glad I am that I'm still here.

"No, actually it's _not _ok. What I asked you to do last night was something that I never should have asked. I shouldn't have put you in that kind of situation. I know what my limits are, and I went way past them last night. Nobody should have to take care of me because of my idiotic behaviour," she says, sounding annoyed with herself.

"Bella, I didn't mind, seriously. There's no crime in getting help."

She stares at the floor. "You're a good guy, Edward, and I need to apologize to you. I've been a total bitch, and while your behaviour has been less than stellar, you don't deserve what I dish out. I mean, if I were you, I would have just left me there with Jason or whatever his name was."

I grit my teeth. "You said his name was James last night."

"I did? Yeah, I guess it might have been. I'm not really sure. That's the sketchy part," she says.

"So, you remember everything else? I mean, you remember when I…fuck, never mind." Why does this woman make me feel like I'm seventeen? I can barely form a sentence around her.

"Yes, Edward. I remember kissing you. That's kind of hard to forget, even as drunk as I was," she says firmly.

This woman will never cease to amaze me. I mean, this isn't at all what I was expecting. Even if she did remember, I expected her to pretend she didn't; to blame the alcohol, but I'm learning that Bella will never do what I think she will. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. I can see why Lauren is so into you," she says, sighing and sounding defeated.

"I don't care about Lauren. I care about you, and I'd really, really, like to kiss you again."

"What about Lauren, or all the other women?" she asks.

"There are no other women, Bella. There's only you. Maybe later today or tonight we could go out or something." Jesus it sounds like I'm fourteen and asking some unattainable and completely out of my league hot senior out on a first date or something.

"Where?" she asks, tilting her head to the side.

"Umm…" is my smooth response, because quite honestly, I'm amazed that she hasn't kicked me out of her house yet, and she actually appears to be somewhat interested in going to dinner.

"If memory serves, Edward, the restaurant suggestions were just rolling off of you a few days ago. Can't think of any now?" she asks, smirking at me. This is a different smirk…not full of distain and contempt. This appears playful…fuck, a playful Bella, in her bedroom, with me in her bed…My dick wakes up, hard as fucking forged steel or something.

"How about my place? There's something I need to show you," I suggest, because she needs to know everything. If this has a chance at all, she needs to understand what she's done to me, what I've done because of her.

"There is, huh? We're not having sex, Edward," she says definitively.

"I didn't say we were. Whatever gave you that idea, Bella?"

She blushes and walks around the bed to the door while I try to commit to memory the exact shade of red she's turned. I really wish we were at my studio right now so I could paint her. "I really need to go, Edward."

"Oh, yeah…right, sorry." I whip the sheets off, and she takes an audible gasp in as she notices the cock of steel that's straining in my jeans. I mean, who wouldn't notice it? I should be embarrassed, but I just can't be. And just because I enjoy tormenting her so much, I stretch up a bit and watch as her eyes grow wide while they linger and darken slightly. Actually, if I'm being honest, it's a little uncomfortable packed in there. It's so fucking hard, I think I may do physical damage to it if I don't find some release soon, and it clearly knows what it wants. I can feel it twitching, aching while she continues to gape at me.

"Guess, I should go," I say, taking deliberate strides towards the door. She swallows loudly and turns, making her way down the hall.

I follow her, again, back down the hall and to the front door, like I'm hypnotized or something. I'm still in the clothes I wore from last night, and her rushing me out of her house feels all wrong. I want to talk…we _need _to talk. But she's clearly on a mission for whatever lame girly get together she's got planned.

"So, you'll come over then, tonight?" I ask, sounding mildly pathetic and desperate.

"I guess. I mean, if you want. I can bring some wine," she suggests, all nervous. Bella Swan, nervous? I never thought I'd see the day. She's usually so in control and, well, loathing me, so this is a welcome departure.

"You don't need to bring wine, Bella. I've got that well covered."

She snaps her head back at me, all nervousness gone, replaced with the quirked eyebrow. "You do? What, have you got some sort of secret stash of wine in your painting cave?" she asks cynically, opening the front door and holding it for me.

"Yes actually, I do." Bella in my wine room, me licking wine off of Bella's…

"Oh, ok. What can I bring, then?" she asks, locking the door behind her.

I lean in, my mouth brushing her ear. "Just you." I leave her standing, gaping at me on her front step while I saunter to my car.

I get into the car and watch as she pulls out of her driveway and down the street. I accelerate towards my loft, the adrenaline flowing freely. There's another painting calling me, just aching to get out. But first, I think I need to stop at the art supply store. Yes, I was just there, but you can never have too many brushes. And if James just happens to be working…well…karma. I think it might just have to bite somebody else in the ass today.

Chapter End Notes

**Up next, BPOV. How do things look with a hangover?**

**Thanks to all those reading and reviewing!**

**Twitter: CarLemon**


	17. Chapter 17

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. May 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to my amazing beta, xrxdanixrx, who's also provided awesome banner on Twilighted! She's the best!**_

Thanks to all reading and reviewing.

Let's see what Bella thinks with a hangover…

BPOV

Chapter 17

I glance at Edward's car in the rear-view mirror while I drive to the vintage store, and I curse Alice more than I normally would for her stupid shopping idea. Even though I told Edward my hangover is under control, I actually could use some more sleep…preferably with him.

Oh my God! I slept with Edward last night! What's even more incredible, I didn't have a panic attack this morning. That would have just been the icing on the cake now, wouldn't it? What was I thinking? Oh, right, I wasn't thinking…I was wasted, and there he was, unfathomably helping me. I smile in the mirror and watch as he turns and disappears down a side street.

Whoa, wait. Yeah, he helped me last night, but do I really think Edward has changed? I mean is that even possible? Was that man last night really him? I feel like it could be, but I've been disappointed so many times before. Do I dare allow myself to believe? I shake my head with the knowledge that my judgment is likely clouded by the amount of alcohol I consumed.

While I sit at the red light, my mind wanders back to last night and the kiss. Holy hell! Even in my semi-drunken state, that kiss was fucking amazing. I don't remember ever being kissed like that…that's probably because I haven't been. Not a kiss in five years. Fuck, I'm pathetic. I've got no idea how to do this, emotionally or physically.

I can't even talk to anyone about this. There's a fun conversation to have. "Oh, Jake, I know you had a thing for me, but now I think I might want to fuck Edward, and I was just wondering, well, how do I go about doing that? You know, with me only having one leg and all."

_Jake! _ Oh shit! I was supposed to run with him this morning.

A car honks from behind me, scaring the hell out of me. Apparently, in my Edward-induced haze, the light has turned green. I accelerate down the street, stick my earpiece in, and dial Jake. He picks up on the second ring.

"Hey, Jake. It's Bella."

"Hey, Bells. How are _you_ doing this morning? Slept in, I see?" he asks sarcastically.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I had a bit of a rough night."

"So I hear," he says flatly.

"What?" I question. What does that mean?

"Did that Edward guy not tell you I came by this morning?" he asks.

"No! Wait, you met Edward?" Oh shit. Edward never said anything about that. Oh God! Could this be any more awkward?

"Yeah, he opened your door this morning," he says flatly.

"Oh."

"Yeah_, oh._ You haven't mentioned him before," Jake says quietly.

"He's a friend." A friend I'd like to…

"Really? Do all of your guy friends open the door at six-thirty in the morning? I don't remember ever having that particular pleasure, Bella." Jake sounds pissed off.

"It's not like that, Jake."

"It kind of looked that way to me," he says angrily.

"He helped me last night. I was drunk and …actually, I'm not sure why I have to explain myself to you, Jake. I just called to apologize for missing the run. We still on for Monday?" I ask.

"Whoa, hold on. He _helped_ you last night? Like with your prosthetic?" His voice raises several octaves.

"Yeah, he did. It's a good thing he was there, actually." Silence greets me on the other end of the line. And now, I've managed to annoy Jake, although why he's so upset, I'm not entirely sure. "So, Monday morning?" I ask again hopefully.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be there. Just be careful, Bella. Please," he says seriously.

"Thanks, Jake. You know I will." I end the call, remove my earpiece, and continue towards the trendy art district where Alice's coveted vintage shop resides. I try to wrap my head around the warm feeling that seems to be engulfing me. It's foreign; it feels peculiar and comforting at the same time.

Alice and Rose are standing in front of the vintage shop, sipping lattes, when I arrive. Alice has dark sunglasses on that are four times the size of her face. Rose just looks typically annoyed.

"We were beginning to wonder if you were going to make it," Rose says sarcastically.

"I'm here, aren't I?" I ask, joining them in front of the shop.

"I guess it's safe to say that Edward got you home last night?" Alice asks, whipping her sunglasses off and narrowing her eyes at me.

"Yeah, that was an interesting message you left on my phone. I think I'm going to keep it and play it back to you when the time's right. I almost forgot how much I enjoy it when you're drunk," Rose says, smirking and handing me over what I hope is something with a lot of caffeine.

"Are we shopping, or are you guys just going to give me the third degree all morning?" I ask, taking a sip. Oh thank the Lord for caffeine.

"Oh, come on, Bella! You don't actually think that we're going anywhere until you spill about what happened last night," Alice says sternly.

"Didn't you tell me they were getting a new shipment of clothes or something at this fabulous store? Isn't that why I'm here at this hour and not still in bed with Edward?" I ask sarcastically.

"Oh my God! You slept with him!" Alice practically screams at the top of her lungs.

"Yes, yes I did. But not in the way you think. We just slept," I say, feeling my face turn red.

"You're blushing. You didn't just sleep. What the fuck happened?" Rose asks, studying me closely.

"I was drunk. I needed help with my prosthetic. He helped me and we fell asleep. That's all," I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

"That's all? That's all? That is sure as fuck not all, Bella!" Rose yells.

"He helped you? Oh my God! This is massive!" Alice shouts.

"Yeah, it kind of is," I say, laughing at the two of them.

"You saw his dick?" Rose asks, her mouth gapping open.

"What? No! Of course not! God, Rose!" I say, hitting her in the arm.

"I don't believe you. Look at you! You're blushing and not looking me in the eye," Rose accuses. Oh, they are just not going to let this go.

"Ok, so I didn't actually technically see it. I did see a rather large bulge through his jeans this morning, though," I admit.

"And?" Rose presses.

"And what?" I ask. Do they seriously want me to talk about what I think about Edward's…

"Is it massive?" Rose asks, lifting her eyebrows to me.

"Rose!"

"Come on, Bella," Rose urges.

"It's looks to be...rather...large," I admit.

"He helped you with your prosthetic?" Alice asks in shock.

"Yeah. He did. I'm pretty sure I would have spent the night on the floor in the bathroom if he wasn't there," I acknowledge.

"Oh my God!" Alice shrieks, jumping up and down. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Alice, relax. It was one night and I was drunk." _Yes, let's try to keep this in perspective, Bella.  
_  
"Yeah, but this is a big step, Bella. You know it is," Alice says, smiling at me.

"I'm trying not to read too much into it," I mutter.

"Did you kiss him?" Rose asks.

"He kissed me," I mumble. Alice squeals, awakening a couple of pigeons and sending them flying off their post above the vintage store. "Alice! Calm the fuck down!"

"When are you seeing him again? You have to see him again!" she gushes.

"Tonight, actually. I'm going for dinner at his place," I say, while they stare back at me in disbelief.

"Dinner? What?" Rose asks.

"Yeah, dinner. You know? Food, wine, that sort of thing," I explain, enjoying the fact that I've rendered Rose almost speechless.

"Do you have condoms?" Rose asks seriously.

"Rose! I do not need condoms!" Although, I really wish I did.

"Bella, this is Edward Cullen we're talking about. He's fucking hot and you need to get laid," Rose says firmly.

"Can we just go shopping, please? Jesus, you guys are insane. You're more excited about this than I am," I say, starting for the stairs to the store.

"Of course we're excited, Bella. This is major for you," Alice says excitedly.

"Please, can you try not to interfere? I mean last night and your crazy plan… that could have back fired pretty damn fast. Please, just let me do this my way. I know you guys mean well, but I really just want to take this - whatever this is - slow. Ok?" I'm practically pleading with the pair of them.

"We just want to see you happy, Bella," Rose says softly.

"Well, I'm happy, ok? So, lets shop and no more meddling," I say firmly.

Alice runs quickly into the store, while Rose wraps her arm around my shoulder. "I'll give you my stash of condoms, Bella. I've got loads," she says confidently. I roll my eyes and follow her into the store.

Three torturous hours later, I emerge with a dress for the charity auction, and a "make him drool" outfit that Alice insists I must have for dinner tonight. I'm not entirely sure what's so drool worthy about it, but Alice clearly likes it, and Rose nods in approval, so it can't be all that bad.

At this point, I need a nap if I'm going to be able to function at all and keep my wits about me at Edward's.

Alice is insisting on dragging us to get another coffee, which, if I'm being honest, I could really use right now. Another jolt of caffeine in lieu of the Advil that I mistakenly forgot to bring with me is going to do me some good. We take the short walk down to the Cornerstone Cafe and I find us a booth, stowing our shopping bags under the table while Alice and Rose move to the counter to order.

While I stare out the window, there is a flurry of activity at the front door as a thin woman in a trench coat and black patent leather stilettos barrels through with…holy fuck! You've got to be kidding me. My eyes meet his and I panic. I know I was really drunk last night, but I remember those eyes; piercing, blue, playful, and dangerous at the same time.

I try to hide behind the miniscule menu on the table, but it's pointless. I can only pray that he doesn't see me. Whatever conversation we had last night is a blur, but it also served to piss Edward off as I do distinctly remember him practically sprinting after…Jordan? Jason? Fuck, I think his name _is _James.

I try to sink lower into the booth and disappear, but he's not looking away. He quirks his head to the side, a playful, dangerous smile on his face. He says something to the platinum blonde, who heads to stand in line. His smirk widens, and he starts towards our booth.

Oh fuck. I stare out the window, trying to keep my head down. _Please don't stop, please don't stop. Please don't stop._

"Hi there, pretty lady." Oh fuck, just kill me now.

"Hi," I mutter, desperately seeking out Alice and Rose, who are stuck in the never ending line from hell.

"You don't remember me from last night, do you?" he asks, his voice low and deep.

"Things are kind of sketchy from last night," I admit, looking up at him. He's wearing a dark distressed jean jacket over a navy blue t-shirt and worn jeans with paint splatters on them. I don't remember his short, cropped blonde hair, but oh do I remember those eyes. I feel myself start to panic. He makes me nervous and tense and I have no idea why.

"Hmm, I'm not surprised. I never did get your name," he says, leaning on the table.

"I'm pretty sure there's a good reason for that," I mutter, even though I don't really remember what it is. I get a brief memory flash…something about a game he wanted me to play. My guard immediately goes up, almost an automatic defense mechanism. Being a police chief's daughter has its advantages, particularly when I'm sober and am able to think clearly. I miss Dad. I wonder if he would have liked Edward.

James slips into the booth beside me and I shift towards the window. "I'm James, if you don't remember. And you would be?" he asks, his eyes are intense, scorching almost, like he's looking through me.

I find myself drawn in, almost like I'm hypnotized or something, and inexplicably, I answer him. "Bella."

"Hmm. Beautiful. It suits you. You'd make a fantastic subject," he says, shifting his torso towards me.

"Excuse me?" Whoa, fantastic subject for what? I feel another wave of unease course through me.

"I'm an artist. I do mostly portraits, kind of cutting edge stuff. I'm having a showing in a few weeks, Bella. You should come." James is an artist? Oh, hold on, maybe Edward knows him?

"I'm kind of clueless when it comes to art," I admit.

He lets out a low, eerie laugh. "I can teach you," he suggests, quirking an eyebrow, and somehow, I think James is talking about more than just art. The thought sends an uneasy full body shiver down my spine.

"That's ok; I'm actually not really interested in art shows." I look frantically to the line where Alice and Rose have thankfully moved to order.

"Well, maybe if you saw mine, you would be interested. I own the art store down the street. You should come by sometime. I mean, if you're allowed," he taunts.

"If I'm allowed?" What the hell does that mean?

"Yeah, your boyfriend, from last night. He didn't look too happy that you were talking to me," James says.

"Edward? Oh, he's not my boyfriend." Fuck, why did I just say that? "Is that why you ran away? You were scared of Edward?"

He face falls; his eyes darken and he leans towards me. "Bella, I'm not scared of anything," he says intently.

"So, why did you disappear, then?" I ask, like I'm almost taunting him or something.

"I don't like to share," he says, his eyes locked to mine. Share? What does that mean? Actually, I'm fairly certain I don't want to know.

"James?" the crusty blonde yells to him from the line, and he holds up a hand, waving her off.

"Just think about dropping by the shop. You can take a look at my work, and then decide if you want to go to the show," he says, sliding to the edge of the booth.

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass," I say dismissively.

"Bella?" Rose asks, arriving at the table and glaring at James. He should be dead with the look she's giving him. He slips out of the booth and stands, allowing Alice and Rose to sit.

"Guys, this is James. James, Alice and Rose," I say.

"Nice to meet you, ladies." He smiles, still not diverting his steady gaze from me.

Rose raises a threatening eyebrow. "How do you know Bella?" she asks, passing me a coffee.

"We met last night," he says.

"Last night?" Rose asks, glaring at me.

"Yeah, James was outside the bar last night," I explain.

"Oh, do you work there?" Alice asks.

"No. I don't work there. I'm an artist," he says, still staring at me. I look away from him finally and try to control my racing heart.

Rose's eyes grow wide and she gets that determined look on her face. Oh shit. She's hatching some plan. "An artist, eh? Do you know Edward Cullen?" she asks.

James' eyes narrow slightly. "Yeah. I know Edward. He buys supplies from my shop. His work is…interesting," he says thoughtfully. "Very intense and vibrant." James sounds like he's a fan of Edward's work and I momentarily wonder if I've misread him.

"Really?" Rose raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "He's donating one of his pieces to an auction we're having to raise money for the Boreal Forest. Have you heard about it?" she asks.

James finally tears his eyes away from me and looks at Rose. "No, can't say that I have," he says coolly.

The blonde saunters over, joining James at the table. "Jane, you didn't tell me you had Cullen donating art to some charity auction. Where was my invite to do that?" he asks, glaring at her.

"What are you talking about? Edward doesn't _do _charity work," she says definitively. Who the hell is this ice queen? Jesus, could she be more pretentious?

I think I can hear Rose growling from across the table. "It's for a good cause and trust me; he's doing it. He gave us his word," Rose says, cocking her head to the side at Jane.

"Edward never said anything to me about this," she sneers. Oh, Jane doesn't look happy right now and I wonder why she cares anyway.

"Well, there's nothing stopping you from donating something of yours, James. This event is big. It's being covered by the press, and there will be a ton of exposure. We're expecting to sell out the tickets by the end of next week," Rose says, practically daring him to say yes.

"Rose!" I hiss at her. Oh, something tells me Edward isn't going to be happy about this.

"What? It's a good idea, Bella. We'll raise even more money for the campaign," Rose says firmly. I sigh. Rose is right. The more items we have, the more money we raise, but somehow, I'm not looking forward to explaining this to Edward.

James looks at Jane and then back between Rose and me. "When is this auction?" he asks.

"In four weeks," Alice says.

His face falls slightly. "I usually take a lot longer with my pieces," James says, looking worried.

"Edward didn't seem to have a problem with the timeline," Rose challenges. Oh for the love of God. The woman is a force to be reckoned with.

James narrows his eyes at her. "I'll do it," he says firmly.

"The fuck you will, James! Your showing is only a few weeks away. Do you know how hard I've worked at promoting this?" Jane asks, seething at him.

"This will give it more exposure, Jane. And the last time I checked, you didn't own me," he snarls, glaring at her. Oh, he looks mad. Really, really mad. His nostrils flare; he clenches his fists and grits his teeth, trying to remain in control. Jane stares back at him, silently threatening with a mere look. These two are like sticks of dynamite just waiting to explode. I wouldn't want to cross either one of them.

"Oh, I can talk to my editor and see if he wants to run a piece on you. We're doing one on Edward," Alice offers, looking excited. "Have you talked to him about that again, Bella?"

"I'll talk to him tonight," I mumble.

Jane looks like she's about to lose it. "Son of a bitch! I swear to God that man is going to drive me to an early grave," she yells, slamming the coffees on the table. She whips out her cell phone from her expensive hand bag and marches out the door, her red painted nails flying over the buttons.

Mental note: don't get on Jane's bad side. She's intimidating, to say the least. I have a feeling Jane is the kind of woman who gets what she wants, and isn't afraid to steam roll anyone who stands in her way of getting it.

"What was that all about?" Rose asks.

"She's a bit of a control freak. She represents Cullen, too, and apparently, he neglected to tell her about this little auction," James says, looking kind of happy that Edward seems to be out of Jane's good books for the time being.

"Well, I guess we should check out your work," Rose says. "I mean, I'm sure it's good. We just need to promote it properly when we advertise."

"Sure. Come by my shop and I'll be happy to show you. It's just down the street," James says, staring back at me. I feel another full body shiver as he picks up the two cups that Jane slammed down on the table.

"We'll stop by," Rose says. "Maybe on Monday?"

"I look forward to it. Ladies." He nods his head to us and then saunters out the door.

"Fuck, Rose! Edward is going to freak out," I whisper-yell.

"Why would he freak out?" Alice asks.

"I don't think he really likes James." No, it's more than that. He looked like he was going to pop a vein or something when I mentioned his name last night. At least, I think that's what I remember.

"What do you mean, Bella?" Rose asks, studying me closely.

"Well, like I said, I met James last night outside the bar when I went looking for Mike. Oh, wait, did you guys see Mike after he left?" I ask. _Oh God! Mike!_ I hope he made it home last night.

"Yeah, we drove his drunk ass home," Rose says.

"Oh, good. I'm glad you found him." Rose nods and rolls her eyes. "So, I had just met James, and then Edward kind of appeared out of nowhere. James took off before Edward could see him." I rack my brain trying to remember the brief exchange I had with James last night. Stupid shooter game clouding my memory. "Edward got all weird when I told him I thought the guy's name was James," I explain, taking a much needed sip of coffee.

"Bella, let's just stick with one guy at a time, shall we? Jesus, you've gone from a sex draught to two hot guys in less than twenty-four hours. I know you must be horny as hell, but seriously," Alice says, scolding me almost.

"Listen to you two! You guys are always the ones telling me to put myself out there. And for the record, I'm not interested in James. He's just some creepy guy I hardly know, who now, apparently, is donating some mystery art, thanks to you, Rose," I say. God these two are unbelievable sometimes.

"Yeah, well, I think it's safe to say he's interested in you," Rose says knowingly.

"I don't care, Rose," I say vehemently. Rose shakes her head, acknowledging that I'm going on my last nerve, and thankfully, she drops the conversation.

I sip my coffee and stare out the window just in time to see James and Jane walk past, her arms flailing while he looks beyond annoyed. He turns his eyes to the window and they lock on mine. He offers me a dark, smug smile and then disappears down the street. I try to shake off the disturbing feeling, while Alice goes on to Rose about some of the auction details.

"We'll be starting the final push for attendees next week. Hopefully your article will generate enough buzz for a sell out," Rose says enthusiastically.

Alice nods her head and then checks her BlackBerry. "Oh! I've got to meet Jazz. We're scouting locations for one of his photo shoots this afternoon," she chirps, jumping up and gathering her bags. "Have fun tonight, Bella. I want a full report in the morning."

"Sounds good. Remember, dinner tomorrow," I remind her. She waves and disappears out the door.

Rose and I stay for a few more minutes, discussing the upcoming advertising for the auction before I feel last night's insanity finally catch up with me. I say a quick goodbye to Rose and drive back to the house, dropping my bags at the front door. Silence greets me, and I feel the emptiness of my house and my life overtake me.

I'm completely exhausted, my headache escalating from a dull roar to teetering on the brink of overwhelming. I take a couple of Advil and remove my prosthetic before laying down on the bed, desperate for a much needed rest.

The bed is still in shambles and smells like Edward; a rich, intoxicating mix of maple and cinnamon that immediately washes away the uneasy feelings that linger from my latest edgy encounter with James. I hug the pillow close to me and close my eyes.

Is it possible? Could Edward really be the person I hope he is? Hope. I have to have hope, even when it seems lost. It's all I have left. I'm done pretending that I want to be alone. I'm done feeling empty and numb.

Despite my efforts to stop them, the tears fall silently and I feel lost. I think Edward said last night he had been lost. Maybe together, we can find each other.

**Chapter End Notes**

**Up next, EPOV. How is he going to react to James joining the auction and what has he been up to all day?**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing.**

**Twitter: CarLemon**


	18. Chapter 18

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. May 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to my amazing beta, xrxdanixrx, who's also provided awesome banner on Twilighted! She's incredible as are her stories, Hate Me, Don't Try To Save Me, Here We Go Again and At Your Own Risk! **_

Thanks to all reading and reviewing. I'm glad you're enjoying these two, and your reviews mean the world.

Let's see what Edward has been up to today. Come, join me…

EPOV

Chapter 18

I try to keep my emotions under control while Bella disappears down the street in her Jeep. She said she isn't even sure the guy's name was James, but I'm fairly certain I recognized his voice last night. She also looked really scared when I found her, and James can be a little intense, to say the least.

James has a reputation in the art world of being an all around asshole, and a little unpredictable. There have been stories about him loosing his temper, and while I know talk is cheap, I'd rather not take a chance where Bella is concerned. He's always also been way too interested in my work. When my last collection was shown at the gallery, he spent more time there viewing it than I did.

Whoa, hang on. _James _can be intense and has a reputation? What about me? I just about launched myself at some poor guy who was just talking to Bella. Ok, so it looked like it was a bit more than talking, if I'm being honest. He looked like he wanted to…fuck, let's not even go there. The mere fucking thought of someone touching Bella other than me is maddening. My fingers complain slightly due to the fact that I'm gripping the steering wheel so tight, I could probably rip it off. I need to calm the fuck down.

I realize eight-thirty in the Goddamn morning is too early for his store to be open, and it's probably a good idea for me to give myself time to calm down before I go barreling in with guns blazing, so I stop at the Loblaw's grocery store to pick up some stuff for dinner tonight. Yeah, I'm actually pretty good in the kitchen. It's a talent that most women seem to enjoy. The kitchen…Bella in my kitchen…the fucking possibilities are endless there, and my dick couldn't agree more.

I push the cart aimlessly through the aisles, wondering what to cook for her. From everything she said the last time I asked her to dinner, she eats practically nothing, although that could have just been all part of her act to keep me from getting too close.

I decide to pick up ingredients for my famous vegetarian fettuccine primavera, along with some salad and fresh bread, which I'll turn into Brushcetta later on today. I pick up some pastries and chocolate from the bakery because I intend on engaging in a little wine tasting tonight…not to the point where she was last night, but being uninhibited is not a bad thing, especially when I show her what I've done. I know it's more than a little overwhelming, actually bordering on obsessive, and I'm not sure how she's going to react.

Once I've got the groceries, I drive to James' store and am immediately disappointed when some young punk kid with nose and lip piercings is leaning on the counter, looking bored out of his mind behind the register "James not working this morning?" I ask.

The kid shrugs his shoulders. "This afternoon," is the only response I get. Karma indeed. This conversation with James is just going to have to wait. I buy a few more tubes of paint and launch back to the car, the need to get back to the studio now overpowering everything else.

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing in front of the canvas that I've brushed with midnight blue; emotion burning, fuelling me. It's almost unconscious now, like I am painting from a different place. One where I can be open and free, where there is hope and promise, acceptance and understanding. While I can't even begin to fathom the physical and emotional turmoil Bella has gone through since the accident, I paint what I think it must feel like, the glimpse of reality she showed me last night.

While Schubert blasts out from my iPod, filling my otherwise silent studio, I layer yellow hints of hope against the dark background. The shade of burgundy her skin turns when it blushes bleeds through the canvas. The strokes are careful and methodical, and while no one will understand the meaning behind them, I paint for her and for me. For what I hope we can find together. I paint for every person who has ever made her feel like she was different, constantly judging, assuming, and missing the chance to know who she really is.

My work has been called modern abstract by most reviewers, which is simply a nice way of them saying they have no fucking idea what my paintings are about. Actually, it kind of intrigues me to see what people think my work means. The way I paint is open to the viewer's interpretation. I like letting them form their own opinion on what it's about. I enjoy seeing what kind of emotion it induces and I usually find it amusing when they explain to me why I place the colours the way I do on the canvas.

Everyone views my work differently, which I suppose is part of its appeal. I'm often floored with what people come up with. I've heard it all, a wide range of theories, everything from erotic fantasies, to political statements. I'm just happy that it evokes feeling, a reaction of some kind. My world has been void of feeling for so long, that it's cathartic when it pours out me, like it does today and every day, since I met Bella.

Two hours later, I'm emotionally exhausted. I stand back and study the canvas. I can't remember when I've thrown myself into my work like this. Each painting in the collection is becoming increasingly expressive while I feel my connection with Bella changing and growing.

While I stand here, I realize I've had nothing to eat since dinner last night with Carlisle, and I'm starving. I switch off the iPod and make my way down to the kitchen.

I scarf down a bagel and watch the rain fall in sheets against the windows. I don't even know when it started raining. I've got no idea what time it even is. I've managed to loose myself again in the essence that is Bella. Last night, her letting me in the way she did, was monumental. At least, that's how I'm treating it. I'm done taking things for granted and I've wasted so much time, but that, hopefully, ends tonight.

As I stare out the window, guzzling back a bottle of water, a persistent knocking invades my otherwise quiet contemplation of my work. I whip the door open to Jane, who looks more pissed off than normal, if that's possible. "We need to talk," she practically growls, pushing her way past me and dropping her soaked umbrella on the floor.

"Jane. I wish I could say it is a pleasure to see you, but I'm busy, and if I remember correctly, I told you I'd call you when I was ready."

"Do you think this is a fucking game, Edward?" Oh fuck. Jane pissed off...not something I really feel like dealing with right now, or ever.

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you think you can just go off and do whatever the fuck you want without at least talking to me about it?" she asks, glaring at me with the death stare.

"Slow down, Jane. What's going on?"

"When were you going to tell me about this little charity project of yours?" she asks. Her jaw sets and she narrows her eyes at me.

Oh shit. She knows about the auction. "How did you find out about that?"

"I found out this morning from a table of random women in the coffee shop." She glowers at me. "Oh, wait a minute. This is about your latest conquest fuck isn't it? Which one is she? It's the blonde, right?" she asks, cocking her head to the side in disapproval.

"Jane…"

"Can you not control your dick, Edward?" she asks, her voice elevated and harsh.

"First of all, you need to calm the fuck down! And you don't own me. Yes, you promote my work, but this auction doesn't have anything to do with my collection," I argue. Fuck ,she drives me insane. I'll be glad when I can move to another dealer after this collection is finished.

She grits her teeth and then unleashes her rage on me. "The fuck it doesn't! People have been waiting for fucking months for you to produce something, Edward! And now, I find out from a table of strangers that you're donating something to this lame auction."

"It's for a good cause," I say calmly, which only serves to fuel her wrath.

"A good cause that you'd like to fuck?" she asks, raising a pissed off eyebrow to me.

"I'm donating to the auction. End of story. You have no say in what I do." Oh, this is going to turn ugly pretty fucking fast.

"Are you telling me that you're ok with one of your paintings going up for auction along with dinner reservations and gift cards? Forgive me if I find that extremely hard to believe," she says, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Not everything in the world is about money or about you, Jane. Are you pissed off because I did this, or because you won't get any recognition for it?"

"Fuck you, Edward. I made you who you are and you fucking know it. The least you could have done was told me about this," she snarls.

"I don't owe you an explanation, Jane. The last time I checked, you were doing very well on the basis of the last collection I painted. You never have to work again if you don't' want to, so back the fuck off." I feel my blood start to boil again. She's crossing the fucking line right now.

"I want to see it," she demands.

"See what?"

"I want to see what you're painting for this auction."

"I haven't started it yet. I'm working on the collection right now," I say, hoping that will appease her.

"And how is that coming along?" she asks, inching closer to me.

"It's coming."

She tilts her head to the side. "You know, James is now involved in this auction? He's donating a piece, too," she says, smirking up at me, like this is a challenge or something for her.

"What? How?" Fucking hell.

"This morning, the table of charity babes convinced him. Apparently, they hold some sort of power over the pair of you that I don't understand. They must be pretty fucking amazing in bed," she scoffs.

"Jane…"

"Edward, if you do this, you risk the chance of your collection not being as successful as it could be. Everyone will see what you've done, and the value of what you're still working on could suffer," she says seriously. In a way, Jane is right, but honestly, I don't care about the money.

"I don't care, Jane. The money doesn't matter to me. I have more than I'm ever going to need already."

"Are you listening to yourself? Since when does money not matter to you?"

"Since now. Since always." Actually, that's not true. There was a time when that's all that mattered to me.

"That's not the tune you were singing two years ago when you were broke and begging for me to represent you. How soon we forget, Edward," she sneers.

"Jane, listen. I know you helped me. I'm not denying that, and I'm grateful for the help you gave me. You promoted my work when no one else would. But, it's different now. _I'm_ different, and the fact of the matter is, you don't own me or my work. I do. And what I choose to do with pieces that have nothing to do with my original collections is none of your business. Yeah, I probably should have told you, but I didn't, and I'm not backing out of a commitment I made, so you're just going to have to learn to live with it."

"Learn to live with it? You're fucking unbelievable. You are the most arrogant self-centered asshole I've ever met! Whether you like it or not, Edward, what you do affects people other than you. It affects my business and the gallery, it affects the value of the pieces you have already done, and the ones you're working on. I'm just trying to protect you. That's my job. To make sure your work gets the credit it deserves, and that credit is diminished if it's put up for auction at some lame charity event," she explains.

"It's not open for negotiation, Jane. I'm donating something. Period."

"Don't come crying to me when this backfires in your face, Edward. Just ask yourself, is she really worth it? Whoever you're fucking or want to fuck at this charity group. Is she worth loosing what you've worked so hard for?" she asks ominously.

"You're overreacting as usual. This doesn't have anything to do with me fucking someone."

"Really? Are you saying you're not fucking anyone right now?" she asks, running her hand down my arm. A wave of nausea rips through me.

"Jane, enough," I say with warning. I take a step back from her.

"Would you like to fuck me, Edward?" Christ I'm an idiot. Why did I ever get involved with Jane?

"No. I wouldn't."

"Really? Because it seems to me that maybe you're unsatisfied in that department these days. You still seem so tense, Edward. I think she keeps holding out on you, and I know you. You need release. You crave it," she purrs, closing the distance between us.

"You don't know anything."

"I know you, Edward. You can stand here and pretend that you've changed, but this is me you're talking to. I know what drives you, and it's the adrenaline you get when you paint, the anticipation of the first time someone decides to buy your work. I was there when you sold your first painting. Do you remember that?" she asks, looking up at me with lust-filled eyes.

"Yes, of course I do."

"Remember what we did after that? You crave that, too. Maybe even more than anything else," she says, flattening her hand down my chest.

"Jane, it's not happening. I'm not interested. That part of our relationship is over. It's been over for a long time." I grab her hand and push it away from me.

"It doesn't have to be, Edward," she protests.

"Yes, actually it does." I walk to the door and open it, the rain pouring down hard while she stands glaring at me. "I have painting to do, Jane; painting that you are interrupting. You know, I'm sure if you're not interested in representing me anymore, I can find someone else who is," I say flatly.

Her eyes widen and she crosses the room, a new look of determination on her face. "Do not threaten me, Edward. I don't think I need to remind you that we have a contract, and it would make things extremely uncomfortable should I have to call in my lawyer," she warns. Her face softens slightly. "We used to be so good together. Why are you being so difficult?"

I let out a sigh. "I'm not trying to be difficult, Jane. I'm just not interested in having the kind of relationship you seem to want to have."

She nods her head and brushes past me and out the door, pushing her umbrella up. "Let me know when the collection is ready, Edward. You know, interest in James' work is growing, and at the rate you going, his may be ready before yours is," she says. Fuck, she's a bitch.

"Inspirational as always, Jane." She smiles, knowing she's hit a nerve…well, several actually, and then she makes her way to her car.

I slam the door shut, feeling depleted and anything but inspired. But there it is…Jane is right. That is who I was. I wanted the money, the women, even her at one point, and now, none of that means anything. Bella is all that matters, and I'm painfully aware that she may want nothing to do with me when she finds out how fucked up I really am. I can only hope that she feels something, anything remotely in the vicinity of what I feel for her.

I climb the stairs back to the studio and stare blankly at the half finished piece, trying to forget the person who I used to be. Jane's visit has changed my whole demeanor and the way I want to paint. I cover the piece I was working on and start a new one. Darker, foreboding, layers of grey, black, and scarlet; the brush strokes deep and thick, frantically alternating colour while the anger courses through my veins as I try to exercise my demons from me. I have given myself over to feeling. I want so badly to rid myself of who I used to be.

Time passes and I can't stop, each stroke feels both tortured and cathartic. The paint literally hurls from my brush onto the canvas. With the adrenaline pumping, I reach for one of my painting knives and cut a series of frenzied strips through the canvas. I sink to floor and hold my knees into my chest.

I don't know how long I sit and stare at the painting, waiting for the fire raging inside of me to die out. Normally, once a piece is done, I feel the release, but that's not happening right now. Instead, the fire burns harder, faster, it feels like its engulfing me, and I'm suffocating, desperate to grasp on to something, anything that will save me from myself.

Over the blaring of the iPod, I hear another interruption at the door, and with my heart slamming in my chest, I launch myself down the stairs. It's probably Jane, back to fucking dig the knife a little deeper. I don't know how the fuck she expects me to get anything done if she's constantly fucking interrupting me. I know I'm on my last nerve, the painting clearly not enough to tame my anger. I whip the door open, ready to unleash on Jane, and take an audible gasp in. She's standing there, ethereal beauty, my salvation, waiting for me while the rain pours down. "Bella," I breathe.

"I'm sorry. It looks like you were working," she says softly, taking in my frazzled appearance.

"Fuck, is it time already?"

She cocks her head to the side, a playful smile on her face. "Seems you had more interesting things to do today than think about our dinner," she says, lifting her eyebrows to me.

"No, of course not. I was just painting and time kind of got away from me. Come on in," I say, holding the door open wider. She shyly steps in and looks up at me. My dick immediately aches for release.

"I brought these for you." She bites her lip and holds out a large bouquet of purple hyacinths. "I believe you told me that they mean, I'm sorry," she says sarcastically. I shake my head at her and how absolutely disarming she is. "These are supposed to mean hope." She pulls out two blue irises from behind her back.

I'm floored. Hope? "What are you hoping for?"

"You," she says quietly. The air sparks between us, while I take in her words and stare down at her. She's got a grey sweater on that's clinging to every curve on her perfect body and a pair of black jeans that hang off her hips. My dick is on full alert, practically throbbing.

"They're beautiful. So are you." My voice comes out as a whisper. She blushes and casts her eyes to the floor. Fuck me. I'm in so much trouble. There is no way I'm going to be able to resist her when she's like this, but I have to try. We need to talk before this goes any further. I don't just want this to be some random fling. I know what I'm feeling goes way beyond where it should at this point, and that it's quite possible she's never going to let me in.

"You should put them in water," she suggests while I continue to stare at her.

'Right." I reach to take them from her, my fingers grazing hers, and I feel it. The warmth radiating from her, wrapping me, comforting me, electrifying every dead cell in my body. I hear her take a sharp breath in and she looks back up at me.

"Fuck it," I grumble, unable to contain the fire, it spills out of me. I wrap my free hand around her waist and bring her flush against my chest, my mouth crashing to hers, my tongue begging for entrance urgently against her lips. She consumes me, answering the kiss, lacing her fingers through my hair and pulling me closer. I drop the flowers and bring my other hand up to her hair, holding her to me, never wanting to let her go while she moans into my mouth.

"Edward." My name falls from her lips as she breaks the kiss, and I am lost. Her breathing is elevated while I shut my eyes and rest my forehead on hers.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, trailing my hands down her sides, resting them on her hips. For the love of God…she feels fucking fantastic.

"Sorry for…?" she asks, peaking up at me.

"Practically attacking you when you've only been here for five minutes," I say. She giggles and takes a step back from me. The first real, non liquor enhanced joyful sound I think I've heard from her. "I'm emotional when I paint." Her face falls slightly, disappointment flickers, and I see her start to shut down. "No! That's not what I meant. I mean, I _am _emotional when I paint, but that's not why I kissed you. I can hardly fucking control myself around you, Bella."

She smiles tentatively, and then her eyes fall to the floor. "Guess we should get these into a vase," she says, crouching down so I can see…directly down her sweater and the fact that she's got a grey lace bra on, pushing her tits up so they are practically on display for me.

I groan and crouch beside her. "I can do this," I say, collecting the flowers and standing up. I stare down and I know I'm openly gawking at her, but I can't stop myself. She looks up tentatively at me.

"A vase, Edward?"

"Right, yeah." I make my way to the kitchen and find a vase, trying to reel in my emotions. I fill it with water and set it on the counter while she sits on one of the stools. "Shit. I haven't even started dinner," I say, scowling at how I've let time slip away from me today.

"That's ok. I can help," she suggests.

"I'm supposed to be cooking for you, remember?"

"So? Didn't you tell me there's no crime in asking for help?" she asks, smirking at me.

"Yeah, I think I did say that." She blinks up at me and I'm momentarily frozen, passion, want, desire, all racing through me. "You're here. You're really here," I marvel, sounding like a complete idiot.

"Sure looks that way. Are you alright? I mean, you seem kind of out of it or something," she says, looking at me skeptically.

"I'm ok. It's just that today's been…a bit intense, to say the least."

"For me, too," she says. She looks down and twists her fingers together nervously before looking back up at me. "I need to talk to you about something actually."

"You do?" Oh fuck. What the hell is going on?

"Yeah, the guy from last night? His name _was _James. I saw him again today," she says quietly.

"You did, huh?"

"We went to get coffee after Alice's shopping trip from hell, and he was there with your art dealer, Jane? Anyway, Rose convinced him to donate something for the auction. I tried to stop her, but once he heard you were doing something, it was kind of like a mission for him," she says, shaking her head. "He's kind of creepy, actually."

"James is intense. He has a bit of a reputation and I don't want you anywhere near him, Bella," I say firmly.

"What are you talking about? What reputation?" she asks.

"I saw him last night with you. I don't know what he was doing there, but he was all over you," I say through gritted teeth. The anger spikes, warming my body, and fuelling the fire.

"Edward, I'm not interested in…"

"Just promise me that you won't put yourself in a situation where you'll be alone with him, Bella."

"Edward! I think you're over reacting. I hardly know him," she says, now looking pissed off at me.

"Please, just stay away from him. I can't even fathom…" I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to calm the fuck down, and then I feel her beside me, her hand on my arm, calming me.

"Relax, ok? Breath, Edward. Honestly, you're getting yourself all worked up for nothing," she says. "Why don't I start on dinner while you get cleaned up?"

"Oh, shit. I'm covered in paint," I finally acknowledge, running my fingers through my hair and looking down at the splatters of paint that cover me. I'm a disaster right now.

She looks up at me, her eyes dark and wanting. "Yeah, you are."

Fuck, she wets her bottom lip and it's all I can do to pull away from her. "Why don't we start with some wine," I suggest.

"Edward, this isn't going to be an apply-alcohol-insert-here-quick-fuck kind of a night," she says, issuing me her patented eyebrow quirk.

I'm momentarily speechless. I mean, did she think I just asked her here to fuck her? My dick twitches, just begging me to release it. Ok, so if by some sort of miracle that does end up happening, I'm not going to complain, but this is so much more than that. "Bella, trust me. When it happens, there won't be anything quick about it." She takes a sharp breath in and flushes almost a translucent burgundy, and I smile down at her, knowing I got the colour that now lives on the canvas right. I also know its time she sees what I've done because of her without the wine, so I can get her pure and raw reaction. "Come with me. There's something I need to show you," I say quietly.

My heart bangs against my chest, the anticipation overwhelming me while I hold my hand out to her. She looks at me skeptically as she laces her fingers with mine, and I pull her slowly towards the studio.

Chapter End Notes:

Oh, here we go. What's she going to think about the paintings?

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Twitter: CarLemon

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Shout out to the fabulous Belindella and her stories Poor Little Rich Girl and Forgettable. Go run and read!


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Chapter Notes:

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. June 2010.

_**Thanks as ever to my remarkable beta, xrxdanixrx, who's also provided awesome banner! Check out her stories- Hate Me, Don't Try To Save Me, Here We Go Again and At Your Own Risk! **_

_**Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thanks for the quick turnarounds.**_

Thanks to all reading and reviewing. I'm glad you're enjoying these two, and your reviews mean the world.

Let's check in with our Bella, and see about her evening at Edward's, shall we?

BPOV

Chapter 19

I wake up with my heart racing towards a panic attack, while the rain pours down outside my window. The good news is, the hangover headache is gone, replaced by full body shivers and the feeling like the world is spinning out of control around me. This panic attack, thankfully, only lasts a few minutes before I can find the strength to put the swim leg prosthetic on and shower.

I shake my head at the reflection in the mirror, while I get into this make-him-drool outfit, which consists simply of a grey wrap around v-neck sweater and a pair of black vintage jeans that, apparently, make my ass look fantastic, according to Rose.

I am finally able to admit that the fact I'm going to Edward's for dinner tonight, is major. Actually, going to any man's place for dinner would be monumental, but it seems even more so because it's him, and I'm nervous. I don't like being nervous. I've worked for five extremely long years to ensure that I'm never nervous...that I always have the upper hand and am able to confidently maneuver any situation I may find myself in. The truth is, with Edward, I can feel the wall I've built up intentionally to protect myself crumbling, and while that scares me half to death, it's also invigorating.

I've forgotten my umbrella at work again, and so, I have to make a break for the Jeep while the rain pounds down in sheets. Stupid Vancouver weather. My hair is now wet and I can almost hear Alice scolding me while I try to tame it back before taking off to Edward's.

It feels weird to not bring anything with me, so I stop at the flower shop down the street from his place, more than a little amused with myself. I think he'll enjoy this; a little crazy, a little sarcastic, typically Bella.

Along with the replacement purple hyacinths, the shop owner talks me into irises, which he tells me, means hope. Actually, he tells me what nearly every single flower in the place means, but I choose the irises and hope that Edward doesn't think it's completely ridiculous.

By the time I get to his place and park outside, the rain has died down a notch. Still, I sit in the Jeep, parked across from his apartment for a few minutes, taking some much needed cleansing breathes and mentally preparing myself before launching out of the truck with the flowers.

I knock on his door and wait, trying to stay dry by using my bag as a shield over my head. I hear the click of the lock and take a loud breath in when he whips open the door. He looks mad...mad and hot as hell, his eyes dark and ominous. Paint is scattered in his crazed, unruly hair, on his hands, his shirt, everywhere really. Oh fuck, I've interrupted him painting.

His face softens and he lets out a heavy breath. "Bella," he says, like he's surprised to see me or something.

"I'm sorry. It looks like you were working." I realize we didn't really talk about what time dinner would be and that I'm probably here way too early.

"Fuck, is it time already?" he asks, looking frantically at me.

Oh, hold on. Did he actually forget? "Seems you had more interesting things to do today than think about our dinner," I suggest, trying hard to hide the fact that I'm disappointed he doesn't seem to remember.

"No, of course not. I was just painting and time kind of got away from me. Come on in." He opens the door and I brush past him, fighting with the urge that seems to have come over me to push him up against the wall and run my fingers through his hair. So much for pretending this is some casual dinner. I explain the flowers while he stares back at me, first in complete amusement, then in utter disbelief.

"Hope? "What are you hoping for?" he asks, clearly intrigued.

"You," I say honestly, praying that he doesn't think this is totally lame. I mean, bringing a guy flowers is not exactly typical, but then again, I'm not sure much is when it comes to Edward and me.

"They're beautiful. So are you," he says, staring down at me, his eyes wanting and dark. He moves to take them from me and our fingers touch. He feels warm and inviting. I know that it's going to take a Herculean effort to resist him, and I'm not sure I want to anymore.

"Fuck it," he mutters, launching his lips to mine. Holy fuck. This is better than the alcohol induced kiss I remember. He's intoxicating, smelling like paint, his hands desperately lacing through my hair and pulling me to him while his tongue urgently dances with mine. _Jesus slow down, Bella!_

"Edward," I say, while he rests his forehead on mine, my heart literally jumping against my chest. I'm sure he can feel it as he has his body pressed up firmly against mine.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs.

Sorry? What? "Sorry for...?" I ask tentatively.

"Practically attacking you when you've only been here for five minutes. I'm emotional when I paint," he explains. Oh, I get it. He didn't really _want _to kiss me. It's all part of the crazy, deranged painting mode he's in. Ok then. I back away from him, now completely embarrassed. "No! That's not what I meant. I mean, I _am _emotional when I paint, but that's not why I kissed you. I can hardly fucking control myself around you, Bella."

_In what alternate universe can Edward Cullen hardly control himself?_ I crouch down to get the flowers, hopeful that a distraction will bring us both back to reality. He, of course, tries to get them while he stares down at me...well, he's actually staring down my sweater, and I'm momentarily thankful that Alice made me buy it. It appears it actually _is _drool worthy.

He seems like he's stunned or something, so I prompt him for a vase. He shakes his head, sauntering to the kitchen, which gives me a chance to watch him and his beautifully toned body. I realize I haven't gaped openly at a man in years, and that's probably why he seems so deliciously perfect right now. I am also painfully aware that I am much more attracted to Edward than I should be. That being with someone this beautiful, after I've been with no one for so long, is probably an extremely bad idea, given his track record...well, what I've seen of it, anyway.

He mutters something about dinner not being ready and I suggest helping him, which of course, he tries to protest. He kind of seems out it, mumbling the fact that I'm here, and for a minute I worry that maybe painting brings out some sort of wild, unbalanced alter ego for him. I've heard about artists immersing themselves so much in their work that they slowly drive themselves into insanity, and so, I ask him if he's all right.

"I'm ok. It's just that today's been...a bit intense, to say the least," he says ominously.

"For me, too," I admit, now nervous again, and pissed off at Rose for telling James about the auction. Like Edward and I need more complications. "I need to talk to you about something, actually." And so, I bite the bullet and explain to him what happened at the coffee shop, and the fact that James is now donating something thanks to Rose and her inability to keep her mouth shut. He doesn't look impressed...actually, he looks like he's about to explode.

"James is intense. He has a bit of a reputation, and I don't want you anywhere near him, Bella," he says through gritted teeth, like he's warning me or something.

"What are you talking about? What reputation?" Oh fuck, maybe the vibe I was getting from James _is_ right.

"I saw him last night with you. I don't know what he was doing there, but he was all over you," he says possessively, looking much like I think I remember he did last night when I thought he was going to loose it completely at my drunken mention of James' name. He's getting all worked up, telling me to not be alone with James, which I wasn't really planning on doing, anyway. He looks beyond worried, while he shuts his eyes and shakes his head, every muscle in his body tensed with impending fury.

I move to him and place my hand on his arm, feeling his muscles flex under my fingers. "Relax, ok? Breath, Edward. Honestly, you're getting yourself all worked up for nothing," I say, trying to calm him down. "Why don't I start on dinner while you get cleaned up?"

"Oh, shit. I'm covered in paint," he says, running his long fingers through his hair and making it worse.

"Yeah, you are." Covered in paint, and still fucking gorgeous.

He suggests wine, which I really could use right now, but I also want to keep my wits about me so I don't do something really stupid. "Edward, this isn't going to be an apply-alcohol-insert-here-quick-fuck kind of a night," I say, trying to stress my point.

"Bella, trust me. When it happens, there won't be anything quick about it." Holy crap. He's so sure of himself. I feel myself turn red. "Come with me. There's something I need to show you," he says, pulling on my arm gently and backing up towards his stairs.

"Where are we going?" I ask nervously. The last time I was upstairs, I was in his studio and he just about bit my head off.

"You'll see," he says. "Come on." I eye him curiously and follow him, the smell of paint becoming more pronounced with each stair we climb. He stops at the open door and casts his eyes down to me. "I've been painting."

"No kidding...I can smell it, I think," I say, smirking at him.

He's unmoved by my attempt at sarcasm. "I don't ever let anyone see my work before it's done," he says seriously.

"I don't need to see it, Edward. I understand. I know I was out of line the last time I was here, but..."

"No, Bella. You_ do _need to see it," he insists as we reach the top of the stairs. I'm not sure why this is such a big deal to him, but apparently it is, and actually, I'm more than a little curious as to why he wants me to see his work.

He pulls me into the massive room, the smell of paint invading me, while he stares down, trying to read my reaction. He drops my hand and walks with purpose to several frames of varying sizes, each covered with white fabric.

He looks at me tentatively, takes a deep breath and then, one by one, whips the fabric off of the canvasses. "This is what you do to me, Bella. I've painted all of these because of you. I hadn't painted anything for months. I had no inspiration. The reasons I used to paint were gone, and then I met you, and now I can't stop. This is my next collection...well, the start of it, anyway."

My heart is in my throat and the room spins. Holy fuck. I'm speechless...not something I can say happens to me often. Normally, when I'm thrown off by something, the sarcastic side of me pours out, and I find some way of masking my feelings, hiding so no one knows what I'm really thinking. This is beyond overwhelming. "Edward." It's all I can say. I don't know how to process this, how someone like Edward would want to gleam his inspiration from someone like me. I stare at him, trying to fathom and understand what he's done and why he's done it. He watches me intently, looking hopeful, fearful, wanting me to say something.

I take a step towards the first painting and tilt my head to the side, wishing I understood art. This is clearly modern, nothing recognizable, but the emotion leaps off the piece to me. It seems tortured, sad, maybe apologetic, and a thought occurs to me. "You painted this the first night we met, didn't you?" I ask, turning to look up at him. He nods his head and the corners of his mouth turn up at me, followed by a smoldering, heated gaze.

Holy crap...his breathing elevates, his chest rising and falling deeply while he watches me. "They're all for you. This is what you do to me. This is all you. Nearly every fucking waking minute of every day since I met you," he says softly.

I stare back at him and feel my eyes grow wide. I slowly move closer to the first painting and look at him for permission. He nods his head, and I float my fingers over the brush strokes, careful not to touch them. My heart is beating through my chest as I try to comprehend this. "This is because of me?" I ask, my voice barely audible while I stare at the painting, unable to move.

"Yes. I hadn't painted in almost ten months. And then, I met you, and now, I can't stop," he says matter-of-factly, like this is normal or something.

"But, that's just...I'm not even...this is crazy, Edward," I tear my eyes away from the painting and watch as he rakes his fingers through his hair, shifting nervously from side to side. I move to the second painting, marveling at the intensity of the colours while he watches me silently.

"This is me, Bella. This is how I feel. It's how you make me feel and I don't even know the real you. I only know what you've shown me, and I know that's not you."

"What if it is? What if that's all I can show you?" I ask, turning to meet his gaze.

"It's not. But you have to let me in, Bella." He closes the distance between us and stares down at me. For a moment, I feel the wall come down while I look up at him wanting, hoping, and praying that Edward can fill the empty void that has been in my life for so long.

"What if I can't? What if I can't let you in?" I whisper.

"Bella, you can. Let me in, please." He brings his hand up and cups my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into his hand, soaking in his warmth, while he softly rubs his thumb along my jaw. And here, in his studio, engulfed in the inspiration he says I caused, I bring my lips to his and kiss him.

It feels so right. _ He_ feels so right. I am overwhelmed with a litany of emotions; excitement, yearning, fear, and anticipation pour out of me, and I urgently deepen the kiss. I kiss him with all the intensity I have. The pendulum of emotions that he's caused since he sauntered into my life, spill out of me, and I'm lost in him.

He moans into my mouth, and I respond to him, tentatively running my hands up to his shoulders while he snakes his arm around my waist, bringing me flush with his chest. Good Lord, his chest is hard...much like his erection, which I now feel brushing up against me. I take a gasp in and step back from him, covering my mouth. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," I say. I am simultaneously mortified and turned on. I look up at him and he's staring at me, passionately, intently. And this could be so easy if I just let it happen. But I don't just want to be another one of Edward's conquests.

"Bella, don't say that. Don't be sorry. I'm not," he says, his voice lower as he takes a step towards me.

"I should go." I start for the stairs, but he stops me, placing his hand on my arm and stepping in front of me.

"Don't go," he whispers. "Stay, please."

"I can't, Edward. I won't be someone you just fucked in your studio once."

"How can you even say that? Look at this. Look at what I've done because of you. I don't want you to be someone I just fucked in my studio. You're already so much more than that," he says fervently. He runs his hand up to my cheek and I feel the burn from the trail that his touch leaves behind. How this man can have this affect on me, is astounding.

The studio is silent while we stare at each other, the air electrified while his breathing deepens. He leans towards me, and I slip away from him and back to the paintings. I am in awe of what he says I inspired. I cannot imagine Edward being inspired by me at all. Actually, I can't imagine anyone being inspired by me.

I know nothing of art, and yet, these seem to fascinate me. The colours are so vivid and dramatic. I can see power behind the brush strokes. I try to imagine what Edward would look like while he's painting, his muscles flexing, his eyes dark with intensity. I imagine that there is not quiet, soothing music playing in the background when he paints. It seems to be a raw and emotional experience for him.

I feel my heart race, remembering that he's supposed to be painting me at some point, and I wonder if I'm going to be able to hold it together while he does. I take in the rest of his studio and see that there are more canvasses, waiting it seems, for him to unleash his creativity. "Do you always have so many empty frames?" I ask.

"I always paint a collection of pieces. Nineteen to be exact." He looks burdened while he stares blankly at the canvasses.

"Why nineteen?" I press him. It seems like such a random number.

He lets out a sigh and rakes his fingers through his hair. This is clearly something deeply rooted for him. His expression changes, the mood in the room shifting dramatically. "My Mom died on the nineteenth of June. She never got to see anything I did as a _real _artist." His voice is barely audible. He looks as though he may pass out. The colour has drained entirely from his face, and as he tears himself away from the blank canvasses and stares down at me, he looks lost.

I am blown away. Edward Cullen has a soft side; a deeply emotional and clearly tortured side. I cannot reconcile these two polar opposite personalities; Edward, a womanizer, who would think about fucking a stranger in a stairwell, and Edward, who deliberately paints in memory of his mother. "I'm so sorry, Edward," I say sincerely, my heart breaking for him.

He blinks and takes a step away from me. "She was always the one telling me I could do anything; pushing me to follow my heart. Carlisle, my Dad, wanted me to go to law school, just like he did. They used to fight about it all the time. And then, she got sick just before I went to university." He stares at me, and I feel my mouth go dry. "She died thinking I was going to law school. She died never knowing that I did this, that I did it for her," he whispers, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

"She knows, Edward," I say, and I can't resist going to him. I know how he feels; the loss of a parent before they could see you grow up completely. Never knowing what they would think about how far you've come, and what you've accomplished, how they've influenced you. I place my hand on his arm and stare up at him as he opens his eyes to me.

"Can I paint you?" he asks, his gaze penetrating and sad, begging me to let him do this.

"Now?" I ask, my voice raising several octaves. My heart accelerates. I look down at what I'm wearing. I don't really know what I had in mind for a portrait, or to be fair, what he had in mind. We never talked about it. Judging from what I've seen of his work, this isn't going to be a traditional sitting in a chair, with me looking pensive, type of portrait. "I'm not sure I'm dressed for it." I look up at him and his expression switches instantly, a devilish smile playing across his face.

"Are you partial to these clothes?" he asks, his eyes now energized.

What does that mean? Does he seriously think I'm going to pose nude for him? "I'm not getting naked, Edward," I say definitively, taking a step back from him.

"I never asked you to." He takes a step towards me. I look up at him skeptically. "It is part of our deal, Bella." Damn Rose, making me ask him to donate something for the auction. He looks decidedly at me. "You can trust me, Bella. In this and all things."

Holy fuck. "Aren't you supposed to be making me some culinary masterpiece for dinner?" I ask, trying to stall the inevitable.

"We'll cook later. Now...I need to paint." His voice is low and authoritative, and I feel a tingle spark in every muscle south of my waist.

"Ok," I can barely hear my own voice. It sounds shaky, and I don't know why I'm so nervous. It's just a painting for God's sake. Why does it feel like so much more?

He smiles cryptically at me and motions to a massive blank canvass that runs from the floor half way to the ceiling. It's bigger than any of the others in the studio. I make my way over and stand, twisting my fingers in front of it. My entire body is trembling, the mood shifting again in the room.

He turns from me and then methodically covers the canvasses that he unveiled to me previously. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and walks to a large desk that is brimming with brushes and paint. I watch in fascination while he mixes colours together on a worn palette. He is completely absorbed in his task. His eyes narrowed, deep in thought, while he clenches a small rounded paint brush between his teeth.

My breathing is elevated while I watch him. The intensity in the room almost overwhelming and he hasn't even started yet. He's almost hypnotic as he looks up from the desk and focuses his eyes on me. He keeps his eyes locked to mine, and switches on an iPod that's housed in a docking station on the corner of the desk.

The studio is flooded immediately with loud, extremely powerful music. An orchestra with what sounds like a hundred instruments. He stalks towards me, his expression concentrated, like he's entered some alternate personality, and for a moment, I'm scared.

He reaches me and slowly slides the brush from his mouth. I swallow loudly and wait for his next instruction. "You have nothing to be afraid of, Bella. I'm very good at what I do," he says commandingly. Holy fuck, he's so sure of himself. In complete and utter control of the room, of himself, of me. I try really hard to come back with one of my usual sarcastic remarks, but right now, my mind is completely blank.

He places the brush and the palette on a small step ladder that sits in front of the canvas, and then brings his hands to my shoulders, moving me gently so my back is flush against the right side of the frame. "Perfect," he says. What's so perfect? What does that mean? "Last chance to back out, Bella. Once I start, I won't be able to stop." I stare back at him while the music swirls around us. Why does that sound so erotic? He's staring at me, an eyebrow raised, waiting. I simply nod my head. He smiles and turns to retrieve the brush and palette from the ladder.

I eye the brush. It seems so small for such a massive frame. It's going to take hours for him to finish, if that's all he's using. He stands directly in front of me, his torso almost touching my body. My breathing hitches. Why is he this close to me? He dips the small brush in a soft yellow dollop of paint and raises it to my face. He lowers his mouth to my ear. "Stay still, Bella," he orders firmly.

He slowly drags the brush from the edge of the frame, across my collarbone. "What? Edward! What the hell are you doing?"

"Painting. Just relax and breathe." His voice sounds soothing, and even though I know I should probably get the hell out of here, I am suddenly fixed to the floor, unable to move. He slowly pulls the brush across the exposed skin of my v-neck sweater, and then down the front of it to my navel. My breathing is shallow as he crouches down in front of me and looks up, his eyes piercing while he coats the brush again, and slowly strokes up from the hem of my jeans all the way to my hip.

He stands up and cocks his head to the side. "Edward, what the..."

"Shhh, Bella. I need to concentrate," he cautions. He repeats the procedure down the pant leg that hides my prosthetic. His strokes are gentler as he moves the brush back up the side of my leg, stopping again at my hip. He rises from his crouched position and switches brushes in his mouth, removing the one he's just used to ruin the vintage jeans Alice made me buy this morning.

The new brush is thicker, and he dips it in a vibrant orange splotch of paint before flattening it against the canvas and then pulling it horizontally across my side, over my breasts. He presses down with force, the brush dipping in between my breasts before cresting and traveling to my side and onto the canvas. His stroke continues across the canvas fervently, his eyes darker while he aggressively finishes the stroke to the end of the frame.

He returns to me, his breathing coming faster. He coats his brush and runs another horizontal stripe across my hip bone and then onto the canvas. As soon as the brush makes contact with it, he's frantically painting, the brush seemingly taking on a life of its own, while the music blares in the background.

I'm mesmerized by him, watching his muscles flex under his shirt. He switches brushes again and proceeds to place powerful vertical strokes of varying shades of green onto the canvas. He sporadically lays splashes of yellow from the brush that's housed between his teeth into the background.

His strokes become more urgent while he interlays rich burgundy, pale blue, muted orange and, finally, black onto the canvas, leaping out from the green shades he has laid down. He pulls the mini step ladder across the hardwood floor and ascends it, reaching to the farthest corner of the frame to intermix the colours so they cascade down to where I'm standing. He is completely absorbed, his ragged breathing, his brush strokes becoming more forceful while he works.

I don't know how much time passes as he continues his frenzied effort. It could be minutes or hours. Time has ceased to have any meaning at this point, while I stand unable to move, totally enthralled by him. All the while, the music keeps up its relentless assault. It all sounds the same to me. Like one long torturous crescendo, fuelling him. Eventually, he climbs down from the ladder and returns to me.

Taking the brush that he first used on me, he dips it in the soft yellow again. He stretches up above my head, his strong arms cocooning me while he carefully circles the brush around me, outlining my entire body. I squeeze my eyes shut, certain he's going to coat my hair and my face, but to my shock, he doesn't. I open my eyes and look up at his perfectly angular jaw, covered with a light layer of stubble. His concentrated stare falters only for a moment, and the corners of his mouth turn up slightly before he continues. The circular strokes radiate out around my body, until he reaches the bottom of the frame.

He takes a step back and drops the brush to the floor, followed by the palette, sending splatters of paint onto the floor. He lets out a heavy breath and runs his hands through his paint splattered hair. He's covered in paint, his arms, his face, all over his hands. I stare at him, totally fascinated.

"Oh, I'm sorry. You can move now," he says, snapping out of his alternate personality mode.

I take a tentative step forward and falter slightly, my bruised leg complaining. I've been in the same position for God knows how long. My muscles are cramped and stiff. He catches me under my elbow, a worried look etched on his face. "I'm sorry. I should have given you a break," he says, looking down at my leg tentatively.

"No, its ok. I think I'm just kind of in shock," I admit, my breathing beginning to return to normal. It's like I've just run 5K or something.

"In shock?" he asks, looking worried.

"I've never seen anyone paint before. It's...intense."

"I've never let anyone see me paint before," he says, smirking down at me.

"You haven't?" I ask. I feel faint, like I'm going to pass out, his intensity completely overwhelming me.

"No. It's extremely personal for me, and I need to be in a certain...frame of mind. I prefer to paint alone." I stare up at him while he studies in the painting. "Well, what do you think?"

I stay with my back to it. "Is it finished? I mean, I don't want to turn around and look if its not."

He narrows his eyes for a moment. "No, wait." I stay, turned away from it, and I hear him scuffling around behind me. He returns to me with a small brush that's been dipped in black paint. "Now, it's finished," he says softly. He turns me by the shoulders and keeps his hands rested there as I look up.

I gasp at what stands before me. It's as if I've been transported into the depths of a foreboding, dark forest with intermittent splashes of colour that creep their way through a matrix of interlocked trees. The canvas seems to be lit from below by the stark contrasting yellow outline of where I stood...almost a glimmer of promise in the otherwise darkened piece. His black initials are boldly displayed in the white space where I stood mere moments ago. It ignites a myriad of feelings in me; loss, sadness, longing, but mostly, hope.

"This is for the auction isn't it?" I ask turning to him.

He smiles and looks pleased with himself, and me. "Yes," he says, gently squeezing my shoulders. I turn back to the painting.

"It's like I'm standing in the middle of a forest or something."

"You are," he says, nodding his head to the white spot where I stood. "You're giving it hope. You're giving me hope."

"Edward, it's amazing," I marvel.

"It's amazing because of you," he whispers.

"You can't auction this off, Edward." I turn to him and look up. "You could make a lot of money off of this. It should be hanging in a gallery or something."

"I promised you I would do a piece for the auction if I got to paint you. I'd say we're even, Bella," he muses, tracing the paint that has started to dry on the arms of my sweater with the black brush.

I take a step back from him. "Are you sure about this?"

"Very," he says.

A new wave of emotion hits me while I return to stare at the painting, at the promise he sees for himself, and quite possibly, for me. I look up at him as he stands beside me, this man, who I completely misunderstood and was ready to walk away from, and everything I thought he was, everything I thought I knew, changes.

Chapter End Notes:

Up next, what's Edward thinking, hmmm?

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	20. Chapter 20

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. June 2010.

**Thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who provides the banner and puts up with my comma issues. Much love, hun!**

**Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thanks as always for turning these around so quickly.**

**Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean the world. **

**Let's see how our tortured artist is doing, shall we?**

EPOV

Chapter 20

I'm fucking exhausted. Beyond spent. I've painted nearly all day and, now, having Bella here to watch me is just so intense…to say I'm overwhelmed is the understatement of the year. I have never, ever shown anyone my work before it's done, and I certainly have never let anyone_ be_ in my studio when I paint. It's like I'm unveiling my soul for her. Well, truthfully, I am.

A myriad of emotions come crashing down on me while we take in the painting, and I try to regain composure. I'm fully aware that this is a monumental turn of events for both of us. I feel elated, like a fifty ton weight has been lifted from me. I'm also terrified that this is all too much for her, and that she could completely shut down on me right here, right now...that thought makes me panic slightly.

I watch her while she stands beside me, studying the canvas, and I wish I could tell what she is thinking. She tilts her head from one side to the other, furrowing her brow, deep in thought. She wets her bottom lip and finally looks up at me, her expression a complex mix of fascination and appreciation…I think, I hope.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

"Thank you? For what?" My heart pounds hard against my chest while I wait for her explanation.

"For letting me see this, letting me see you. I had no idea," she says quietly.

"It's not something I let people see, normally…well ever," I admit.

"Why did you let me? I mean, I'm nothing…I'm not even…" Her voice trails and she stares down at the floor.

The pent up emotion from the last several hours surges out of me, and I cup her chin with my paint splattered hand, tilting it up to me. "You're everything, Bella," I say firmly. How can she not see that after what I've shown her?

Her eyes glass over slightly as we stand in the studio, the thick smell of paint saturating the air, Strauss swirling from the iPod around us. She takes a deep breath and a step back from me. I've learned to recognize the signs of when she's starting to feel uncomfortable, and I don't want to push her, so I decide a change of scenery is in order. If I'm being honest, I could really use a break and a glass of wine.

Suddenly, she cocks her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. I follow her gaze to the mangled painting I was engrossed in just before she arrived. _Goddamn Jane._ She walks over to it and stares intently before turning back to me. "Is this…about me?" she asks, looking concerned.

"No!" I shout, causing her to flinch back slightly. "Remember, I said that today was intense?" She nods her head. "Jane came to see me after she saw you guys at the coffee shop."

"Oh…"

"Jane thinks she owns me, that she can fucking waltz in and dictate what I do. She pisses me off."

"I can see that. Remind me not to get on your bad side," she remarks, smirking at me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "What is Jane to you, exactly?"

I take a deep breath, and even though I really dread telling her, I know I need to. I don't want to hide anything from her. "We used to…" My voice trails while I shake my head. I can't believe I ever let myself get involved with Jane. Fuck, I'm an idiot.

"I get it. It's ok," she says sadly, starring blankly at the painting.

"No. It's not ok, Bella. It was a long time ago and it's over, alright?" I cross the room and turn her from the painting, gripping her shoulders tightly. "It's over." My eyes search hers, looking for some sign that she believes me, but I'm getting nothing, and I recognize that she's shut down on me again, although I can't really say I blame her this time. "I'm starving. Come on." I put my brush down on the desk, switch off the iPod, and hold my hand out to her. She looks down at it tentatively. "I promise not to make you fall down the stairs this time," I say, smirking at her.

She returns my smirk and puts her tiny hand in mine. The calming effect seems to be instantaneous, and I feel myself relax, closing my hand around hers. I descend back down the stairs with her following me, careful to not go too fast. The last thing I want is a repeat performance of the fall from hell. "How is the bruise on your leg?" I ask as we reach the bottom of the stairs.

"It's sore, but I'll live."

I nod and she stands beside the counter. "Fuck, you must be thirsty. You've been standing there not moving for almost three hours." I reach into the fridge to get her a bottle of water.

"Three hours?" she gasps, her eyes wide.

"Yeah, I told you. I'm emotional when I paint. I kind of give myself over to just feeling. I tend to loose track of time," I admit.

"Clearly. Do you always paint with such…harsh music?" she asks curiously.

"You think some of that was harsh?"

"You don't?" she questions.

"No, I wouldn't say it's harsh. Emotionally charged, sensual, and intense maybe," I offer, intrigued at her opinion of my music choices.

"So, kind of like you, then?"

"Is that how you would describe me?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She blushes. "After what I just saw? Definitely," she mutters, twirling the water bottle nervously.

I pull out the pastries and chocolate and put them on a plate in front of her. She licks her lips and her eyes grow wide…oh fuck, it's all I can do not to launch myself at her and…

"Chocolate?" she asks, breaking my train of thought, but now, all I can think of is the multiple ways I could enjoy chocolate with her, on her...fuck…_not helping, Cullen!_

"Yeah chocolate and wine. They're very good together. Actually, would you like to see my wine collection?"

"Is that the pick up line you always use on women?" she asks, and just like that, the sarcasm I so enjoy is back.

"Seems to me that you're already in my apartment, Bella. I think I'm past using pick up lines at this point in the evening."

"Touché," she says, taking a sip of her water. I watch her lips circle the mouth of the bottle and I fucking almost lose it. She narrows her eyes at me and then looks down. "I didn't bring anything to change into. I didn't realize when you said you'd be painting me, you actually meant _me_."

"I'm full of surprises." I scowl as I look down at her. I'm sure she doesn't want to spend the rest of the night in paint covered clothes. I should have thought this through a bit more. "I can get you something to change into and you can wash off the paint in the bathroom, although I kind of like seeing you like this; with my brush strokes on you."

"You didn't just seriously say that, did you?" she asks, looking at me incredulously. "And what? So, you keep women's clothes on hand for situations like this?"

"No. I've never had a situation like this before. I'm sure I have something you can put on." She raises an eyebrow to me. "I'll be right back." I launch up the stairs and into my closet, pulling out a Queen's T-shirt and a pair of black Nike running pants. Fuck, she's going to be wearing these, and my dick is practically ready to explode at that thought, which reminds me that I haven't even taken time to give myself some form of release today in this particular department. I seriously have no idea how I'm going to make it through the rest of the night.

She's leaning back against the counter, waiting for me when I come down the stairs. "Is this ok?" I ask, handing her the clothes.

She smiles and nods her head in acceptance while she turns the clothes over in her hands. "Yeah, this will do, I guess." She stares back at me, waiting…what is she waiting for? "Do you have somewhere I can change or did you want to watch?" she asks, enjoying the fact that I seem to be completely clueless right now.

"Do I get a choice?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. She returns a similar look and I know I'm pushing my luck now. "Bathroom is down the hall." I nod my head towards it and watch while she disappears into the bathroom, trying to keep the image out of my head of her changing.

I move back to the loft, washing off the paint from my hands and arms in the bathroom sink. There's just no way this is coming out of my hair. I need to take a shower. I'm a total disaster, absolutely covered in paint, and I can't very well cook dinner like this.

I turn on the shower and rid myself of my paint splattered clothes, my dick springing free and pleading with me while I get into the shower. Ok, so it has been almost a full day since I have given myself any form of release, but I don't want to waste time with fantasy-Bella, when real-Bella is actually here…getting naked…and putting on my clothes. Fuck, my hand drifts lower, and if my dick could scream, you would hear it half way across the city.

I move the temperature to blast myself with cold water, which tames the beast only marginally. I get out and dry off, wrapping the towel around my waist while I pull out a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt from the closet. I dress quickly and make my way back downstairs.

The sight at the counter tests the last bit of control I think I have. Bella is chopping vegetables, her hair piled up haphazardly on top of her head, some wayward strands dangling in her face, her hips swaying to some tune she's got playing only in her head. She has the t-shirt tied up into a knot at her waist, revealing only a sliver of her porcelain stomach, and making me really, really wish I could see more. The oversized pants are rolled over several times at the waist and hang precariously, like if she makes one wrong move, they're going to fall right off of her. Fucking hell. I've stopped breathing all together. I'm pretty sure I hear my dick whimper.

"Oh, you showered," she says, looking up from the vegetables and quirking her head to the side. "You know, some warning on the painting would have been nice."

"Sorry, inspiration hit me. It happens sometimes."

"This chocolate is good," she praises, lifting her eyes to the plate.

"Oh, you're supposed to have it with Port," I say, walking into the kitchen and pulling out two wine glasses and a decanter from the cupboard. She looks at me skeptically. "Oh, please don't tell me you don't know what Port is, Bella."

She blushes and resumes cutting the vegetables. "I don't know anything about wine, Edward. Actually, that's a lie. I know I like it," she says firmly.

"Then you'll love this. Come." I hold out my hand to her, and she puts the knife down, wiping her hand down the t-shirt before placing it in mine.

"Some other mystery reveal you want to show me?" she asks sarcastically.

I laugh and pull her past the living room, stopping at the large double French doors. "_This_…is my wine room." I open the doors and she rolls her eyes at me, her mouth quickly gaping open when the lights come on automatically as she steps into the room.

"Holy shit, Edward. Are you even allowed to have this much wine? You could rival the liquor store," she marvels.

It's actually not that big of a collection, I mean, its impressive, I guess, but I know people who have ten times this much wine. Customized birch wooden racks, run floor to ceiling, the recessed lighting illuminating the room. A single rolling ladder that I can pull across from one side of the rack to the other sits in the corner, waiting. She walks further into the room, running her fingers along the bottles housed within the diamond shaped cubes beside the ladder.

"The chocolate out there will taste better with a Port," I explain. I drag the ladder across to the middle of the rack and climb up, selecting the Romariz Tawny twenty year old from the top. "This one, actually." I descend back down and hand her the bottle. "It's perfect for chocolate."

She turns the bottle over in her hands and shrugs her shoulders. "So, you know wine, too, eh?"

I should have known she wouldn't be the least bit impressed about this. "Yeah, I know a bit."

"How did you learn…never mind. I don't think I want to know," she says quietly, scowling and studying the bottle closely.

I cup her chin and tilt her face up to me. I know exactly what she's thinking…that I learned this to try and impress women, which couldn't be further from the reality. "I learned from my Mom, actually. She never let me have any wine, of course, but she and Dad were always having dinner parties and stuff, and I would help her in the kitchen," I explain. "She taught me how to cook, too." She stares up at me, her mouth hanging open in disbelief, it seems. "What?"

"I didn't picture you to be a help-out-mom-in-the-kitchen kind of guy," she says softly, and once again, I'm floored. She is so unlike anyone I've ever been with before. Women are usually all over the wine room. It's usually some sort of a turn on. There's something intriguing, I guess, about a guy who knows all about wine. Bella, of course, isn't impressed with the fact that I have thousands of dollars of wine sitting in a custom made wine room, but is impressed because I spent countless hours in the kitchen with my Mom. I wish she was still here. I wish she could have met Bella. She would have loved her.

"I'm full of surprises, remember?" I usher her back to the doors, letting my hand drift to the small of her back. She shivers slightly under my touch, and I resist the urge to take her right here…in the wine room…right beside a vintage bottle of Penfolds St. Henri Shiraz which would taste divine as I let it drip slowly out of the bottle and onto her breasts…I'm not going to make it through the night. There's just no fucking way.

We return to the kitchen, me with a permanent hard on, that there is no use in even attempting to hide, where I open the Port and pour it into the decanter to let it breathe. She eyes me curiously. "It just needs to breathe for a bit. It tastes better that way…well, I think it does, anyway," I murmur.

She nods her head and I fish out a pot from the cupboard, filling it with water for the pasta. "What can I do to help?" she asks.

"Do you want to put on some music?" I suggest, putting the pot on the stove and turning it on.

"That would mean I would have to go into your studio…alone. Am I allowed to do that?" she asks, giving me a playful smile.

"You can go into my studio any time you want, Bella." She shakes her head and moves towards the stairs. "I have a CD player and another iPod down here," I say, nodding towards the living room.

"Of course you do," she says, clearly unimpressed. I watch her glorious ass as she moves to the stereo equipment and my CD collection, wondering what she's going to pick. I don't have the typical latest hits, mostly because I can't stand the majority of them. I prefer classical music and what most people consider the old standards, even though there is nothing old about them. Ray Charles, Tony Bennett, and Sinatra, timeless really.

She cocks her head to the side and runs her fingers over the CDs on the built in bookshelf beside the fireplace. Oh, I want to be under her fingertips, fuck…to feel them on my chest, my back, my…

"Ray Charles ok?" she asks, bringing me out of my fantasy.

"You like Ray Charles?"

"Yeah. My dad taught me to dance to Ray Charles," she says, putting the CD in the player and waiting for it to shut.

"I thought you didn't dance."

"I haven't since the accident," she mutters, biting her bottom lip while the first bars of Ray's masterpiece fill the loft.

_You give your hand to me  
And then you say, "Hello."  
And I can hardly speak,  
My heart is beating so.  
_

She looks over to me and I make my way slowly to her, her eyes sad, but wanting, pleading almost. "Why not? Why haven't you danced?" I ask quietly.

_And anyone can tell  
You think you know me well.  
Well, you don't know me.  
No you don't know me.  
_

"Because it's too intimate, too personal. I don't like people getting that close," she says, almost whispering.

"Bella, I think we crossed the line of getting too close a few hours ago when I painted your breasts." Her mouth falls open and she brushes her tongue along her bottom lip while she stares up at me.

_No you don't know the one  
Who dreams of you at night;  
And longs to kiss your lips  
And longs to hold you tight  
_

"I'm not as fluid as I used to be, you know, with my leg," she says urgently, throwing another excuse at me.

"You seem to be able to run with this Jacob friend of yours, who I had the distinct pleasure of meeting this morning."

"That's just running, Edward. It's not that complicated. Dancing requires more coordination, I have to think about every little move, to make sure I wouldn't…" I silence her ramblings and place my fingers over her mouth.

"Stop thinking and just dance. I won't let you fall," I whisper.

"I don't want you to have to hold me up. That's the point. I want to do be able to do it by myself," she says, her face set in that determined way I've come to crave. While Ray croons out his plea, I stare down at her, willing the wall to come down.

_For I never knew the art of making love,  
Though my heart aches with love for you.  
Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by.  
A chance that you might love me too.  
_

"Ok, then. You lead." She looks up at me, her chin quivering, while she tries to hold it together, and very slowly, she places her hand on my shoulder. My eyes close involuntarily at the feeling of her touching me, and I wrap my arm around her tiny waist, my hand resting on the rolled up fabric of the running pants, my fingers lightly brushing her exposed skin. She takes an audible breath in, and I pull her closer to me, taking her other hand in mine and holding it to my chest. "Whenever you're ready," I murmur, staring down at her.

She shuts her eyes, and as Ray belts out _You Don't Know Me,_ she starts to sway, slowly at first, me trying to keep it together by biting down so hard on my bottom lip I'm sure its going to bleed, and her, her brow furrowed in concentration.

_You give your hand to me,  
And then you say, "Goodbye."  
_

She feels so amazing, just rocking against me, until I feel her finally relax and she tentatively starts to move, a little awkwardly at first, but soon, we are making the circuit around my square coffee table, her leading the whole way. Her brow slowly relaxes and a soft smile plays across her lips before she rests her head on my chest.

Fucking hell, I'm really, really trying not to launch myself at her. I know how important this is to her, how far we've come tonight.

_Oh, you'll never ever know  
The one who loved you so._

_No, you don't know me._

"Appropriate song, eh?" I offer. "You're a wonderful dancer, by the way."

"Hmmm," she murmurs into my chest. Fuck, she's shaking while she moves her arm up my shoulder and around my neck, and I tighten my grip around her waist. She pulls back and looks up at me, silent tears falling. She stops abruptly, before the song is over.

"Bella, don't cry…unless they're happy tears?"

She nods her head. "They are," she sniffs out. "Thank you, Edward."

I bring my hand up from her waist and gently brush the tears away with my thumb. "We'll dance more often. All night if you want," I offer, and I'm only half joking. I will do whatever she wants me to.

She laughs quietly. "I'd like that," she mumbles. She reaches up and takes my hand from her face, kissing the palm before letting it go and wrapping her arm around my neck.

She pulls down softly on my neck, gently brushing her lips to mine, which of course, is my signal to groan and deepen the kiss, my hands running up her back, pressing her even closer to me while I feel the blood burn through my veins. She pushes me back slightly, my knees hitting the couch, and I drop into it, pulling her with me. For the love of God…instead of straddling me, like I've imagined her doing so many times before, she sits down beside me, her hands moving into my hair. What is it about my hair? I've never understood why it seems to be so fascinating.

I'm pretty sure I'm groaning out loud, because she sinks back into the couch, breaking the kiss and quirks an eyebrow to me. "Did you just growl?" she asks shyly.

"I told you, I can hardly control myself around you, Bella."

"Then don't." I brush her hair behind her shoulder and look back at her questioningly. "Don't try to control yourself," she murmurs.

My breathing hitches and every muscle in my body coils. I skim my nose down her jaw and move to claim her delicious lips again. "Edward?"

"Hmmm," I think I say. My brain has completely detached from the rest of my body, and I'm operating on pure instinct, want and feeling, one of my many fantasies coming to life right here, right now.

"Is that the water overflowing on the stove?" she asks.

"Wha…what?" The track on the CD changes and Ray starts to belt out _Night Time is the Right Time_.

"Do you not hear that?" she asks, pushing me back slightly and turning towards the kitchen.

I try to refocus my brain, and then, distinctly hear water hitting the element and sizzling. "Shit!" I bolt from the couch and make my way into the kitchen, where the water is boiling over, spewing out of the pot and onto the cooktop. "Fuck, this never happens to me," I grumble. I must look like a complete idiot.

Her beautiful laughter fills the kitchen while she walks to the counter, watching me in amusement. "First time for everything, I guess," she says.

I scowl at the pot before removing it from the stove. "I can't even boil water around you."

She laughs and watches, while I clean off the stove and place the pot back on the element.

"Maybe we should hit the wine," she suggests, lifting her head to the decanter on the counter.

I nod my head and pour us two glasses. I move to her and hold one of the pieces of chocolate to her lips. "Take a bite," I instruct. Her tongue darts out between her lips before she wraps them around the chocolate and takes a bite. Love of God. I take a step back from her and watch as she shuts her eyes and chews slowly. "Now, sip." She opens her eyes, and I hand her the wine glass. She takes a sip of the Port, her eyes growing wide as she swallows loudly.

"Oh my God! That's really good. It _is_ better with the Port," she gushes, taking another sip and staring up at me.

"Well, technically, we're supposed to be having the dessert and the Port after the main course."

"You were the one who put it out in front of me, just tempting me to take it," she reminds me.

Oh well, that's just too easy. "What else can I tempt you with?" I ask, putting another piece of chocolate in front of her mouth.

"I'm starting to understand why you're still single, if these are the lines you're using," she says mockingly, clearly putting me in my place. She bites down on the chocolate, her lips brushing my fingers gently before she takes a step back from me. She sips the wine, glancing up at me from behind the glass, and I stifle a groan. "So, you learned wine from your Mom, what did you learn from your Dad?'

"How to be an asshole," I say bitterly, immediately regretting it. Her eyes grow wide. "That's not entirely true. But, after my mom died, he kind of lost it and we just sort of stopped talking. We really drifted apart after university and I thought he had given up on me, until yesterday," I explain.

"What happened yesterday?"

"I saw him for the first time in almost two years. He was being treated for cancer all this time and he kept it from me," I say softly, still reeling from that little revelation he dropped on me.

"Edward, I'm sorry. That must have been hard for you and for him."

"It was…it is. He says they got it all, so he just has to be monitored now. What about your Dad?" I ask, knowing I'm pretty much emotionally done at this point, and actually, I want to hear more about her.

"He died shortly after my accident. Heart attack," she says, twirling the wine glass between her fingers.

"I'm sorry, Bella. And your Mom?" I'm almost afraid to ask.

"She's good…a little crazy sometimes, but good. She would enjoy the fact that you can cook, actually," she says, laughing. "She's a bit of a disaster in the kitchen."

"Well, maybe I'll have to cook for her sometime."

She smiles over top of the wine glass and takes a large sip. "Do you cook for women a lot?" she asks quietly.

"I haven't lately. I used to cook for Angela when we lived together."

"It was serious with her, then?"

"I thought it was," I admit, shaking my head.

'What happened, then?"

"I found her fucking one of her grad students in our bed," I say flatly.

"Oh, God! Are you serious?" She looks horrified.

"Oh, yeah. I'm serious. I essentially turned into a prick after that, Bella. I haven't exactly been a saint," I admit.

"Edward, you don't have to…" Her voice trails while she watches me refill her wine glass.

"Actually, I do. You should know. I've been living a pretty fucked up life for a while. After my Mom died, my Dad went on this kick of bringing home different women all the time…like every night. After I found Angela with…whatever his name was, I just started to be with random women, thinking that was some sort of solution, or a way to get back at her or something. I don't want to be that person anymore, Bella."

"You don't?" she asks, looking at me skeptically

"No, I don't. I want more of this. Of you."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do. More than you can possibly imagine." She stares back at me doubtfully. "People can change, Bella. You just have to give them a chance."

While we stand in my kitchen, our eyes locked, Ray filling the silence, I can only pray that she'll give me that chance.

**Chapter End Notes:**

**Oh, what's our Bella thinking now?**

**Twitter: CarLemon**

**Discover the pure genius that is Ray Charles. You Don't Know Me. Lyrics by Cindy Walker and Eddy Arnold, 1956**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=L-5LwRinkJ0&feature=related**

**Night Time is the Right Time. Lyrics by Roosevelt Sykes and Leroy Carr, 1937www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=E4rG4GRTVB4**

**Johann Strauss II. - Geschichten aus dem Wiener Wald www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=poAb0MhEvmk**


	21. Chapter 21

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. June 2010.

**Thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who provides the banner, writes four amazing stories: Don't Try to Save Me, At Your Own Risk, Hate Me, and Here We Go Again. She is awesome!**

**Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thanks as always for turning these around so quickly.**

**Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean the world. **

**Shall we check in with our Bella?**

BPOV

Chapter 21

"People can change, Bella. You just have to give them a chance," he says with determination, staring at me with this intense, burning look that makes me just want to forget my insecurities and my rules, and the fact that I have no idea how to physically move our relationship forward. But, there it is. If I want this to go further, and God knows right now I do, he needs to know that this is not going to be what he's used to. The thought of Edward with the women he's admitted he's been with makes me a tad nauseous, and my situation that much more glaringly unique. Baby steps…that's what we need to take.

He turns to the stove and puts the fresh pasta in, while I devour another chocolate… and more wine. The chocolate really is better with Port, and I marvel at the fact that I so totally and completely misunderstood Edward. I never, in a million years, would have thought he was a wine aficionado. It's actually extremely sexy, if I'm being honest.

"Pasta should be ready in a few minutes," he says, turning from the stove and placing his wine glass in the sink.

"You're not having wine with your dinner?" I ask, eyeing the glass curiously.

"Not this wine."

"What's wrong with this wine?"

"Nothing, but it doesn't go with the meal," he says, as if I'm supposed to know that.

"It doesn't?"

"No. Wine and food are kind of like relationships," he says seriously, like he's given this a lot of thought.

"Really?" I ask dryly. He nods and quirks an eyebrow. "Enlighten me, oh great philosopher of wine and relationships."

"Well, one shouldn't overpower the other. They should enhance each other. You know, give a good balance," he explains, leaning back on the counter.

"I see. It's all about balance then, eh?" I ask, tilting my head to the side at him. Only Edward could find some parallel between wine and relationships. The way his creative mind works is absolutely fascinating.

"Yes…usually a delicate balance," he says, offering me his patented heated look.

"Uh, huh," I mutter, looking away from him. How does he do that? Make me completely fall apart with just a look?

He snickers. "Can you keep an eye on the pasta? I'll get us another bottle of wine," he says, pushing off from the counter and brushing past me.

"Are you sure you trust me with this?" I ask, moving to the stove.

"I'm fairly certain you can handle it," he quips, disappearing towards the wine room, and of course, I watch him…for way longer than I should.

Forty-five minutes later, we're sitting at his counter, finishing what is probably the best fettuccine I've ever had. "That was amazing, Edward," I compliment.

"Thanks." He shrugs slightly.

"You remembered I was a vegetarian?" I ask, sipping the chardonnay that he insisted earlier is the reason the pasta tastes so good. I'm not entirely sure what exactly he said about the wine, due to the fact that I was fixated on the way his muscles flexed under his t-shirt when he removed the cork from the bottle.

"Yeah, I remember that conversation…vividly. Although, I wasn't really sure if you actually were a vegetarian or if you were just trying to get rid of me."

"I was a bitch to you that day, but yeah, I'm actually a vegetarian," I admit.

"Well, I'm glad I went with the fettuccine tonight, then." He puts his fork down and looks to be fighting some internal war, before he turns to me, his expression serious. "Do you ever talk about the accident? I mean…Emmett told me it happened when you were skiing, but…never mind, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." He shakes his head and rakes his fingers through his hair.

"No, its ok. I mean, you should probably know. But, I'm going to need more wine for this conversation," I confess. He smiles and refills my glass. He waits and watches while I take a sip and summon up the nerve to talk about this. I don't ever usually get this far with a man to explain how this happened. The details aren't things I normally share, but I also realize that if we're going to have any type of a relationship, he needs to know.

He senses my reluctance and gets up from the counter, clearing the plates and rinsing them in the sink. "Maybe you'd be more comfortable on the couch?" he suggests.

"Yeah, that sounds nice." He brings the bottle of wine, while I carry our glasses to the living room. He sinks down beside me on the couch. I take another sip of wine and twirl the glass between my fingers before taking a deep breath. I raise my eyes to him and he offers me an encouraging smile. "When I was in university, I was actually on the ski team. I am…well, I_ was_ a pretty good skier. Rose, Alice, Emmett, and I had gone to Revelstoke for a vacation. I was actually training for a race at the time. Anyway, it was early morning, a perfect day on the mountain…and I just…I hit an ice patch and lost control. That had never happened to me before." I shake my head and stare back at him. "I crashed down the slope, and the release on the ski binding didn't trigger right away. I ended up hitting a tree, and breaking my leg. It was an open fracture. Do you know what that is?" I ask. He shakes his head slowly, his brow furrowed, the colour drained almost entirely from his face.

"Essentially, it's a broken bone that penetrates through the skin." He gasps slightly and his eyes grow wide while he looks down at my leg. We both take a long sip of wine, the seconds that changed my life coming back to me in painful, vivid flashes. I squeeze my eyes shut. "If the bone had just broken and not gone all the way through, I probably wouldn't have lost my leg," I whisper, opening my eyes again. "But, when a bone goes through the skin, it needs to be treated immediately, or there's a chance for infection and problems with circulation. Emmett and Rose stayed with me, while Alice and Jasper, who she had just met, went off to get help. It felt like it took a long time for them to come back…like a really long time. I slipped in and out of consciousness, so Emmett tells me, anyway. I don't really remember much about that part…other than the pain and Rose's white ski suit covered in blood while she lay with me in the snow. She never let go of my hand the whole time. I don't know how they stomached staying with me." I sniff and shake my head. "When the ski patrol finally came, they had to airlift me to the hospital. They did one operation that day, and then another a couple of days later because of circulation problems and the damage to the blood vessels in my leg."

"Jesus, Bella," he mutters, placing his wine glass on the coffee table and turning his body back towards me.

"This team of doctors came in after the second operation, and I distinctly remember them pulling out a massive pin and sticking it into my leg in a bunch of places. I didn't feel a thing. Nothing. They said, and I quote, 'circulation couldn't be stabilized'…I'll remember those four words for the rest of my life…circulation couldn't be stabilized." He furrows his brow and takes the shaking wine glass out of my hand, placing it on the coffee table beside his. He holds both of my hands in his and slowly starts to the rub the backs with his thumbs. "I remember the look on my dad's face…that's etched in my mind forever, I think. I remember my Mom collapsing beside the bed in her usual dramatic fashion." I laugh to myself. "She then proceeded to parade in a bunch of natural healers and she filled the room with different types of incense. She even did all these weird chants, apparently trying to fix me. Actually, looking back, that was comic relief for us while we waited for the final decision." He laces his long fingers with mine and squeezes softly. "The chants didn't help. There was nothing that could have helped. My leg was dead below the knee from lack of circulation, and they had to amputate it…there wasn't really another choice."

"Bella…I'm so sorry, baby." His voice is quiet, but the last thing I want is pity. I've worked too hard for pity to be the reaction. Understanding-yes, acceptance- definitely…but not pity.

"It's alright, and I don't want you to feel sorry for me, Edward. I mean, it was painful as hell, and don't even get me started on the years of physio. Jake can be brutal."

His jaw sets and he shifts back slightly. "How long has Jake been your physiotherapist?" he asks quietly.

"Pretty much since it happened. He's been amazing. I seriously don't know how I would have gotten to this point without him." He knits his brow together and nods his head. "I don't have feelings for Jake. Not the way I think you're thinking," I assure him.

"Well, he sure as hell has feelings for you," he growls through gritted teeth.

"You met him for all of five minutes, Edward. How can you possibly know that?"

"Because I'm a guy and I know."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, right. The secret guy code," I say, putting the words in air quotes. "And Jake is seeing someone, if you must know."

"He wants you, Bella. That's pretty fucking crystal clear to me," he notes possessively.

"You're being ridiculous. Jake knows how I feel about him. We've had that discussion."

"You have?" he asks. I nod my head. "And that doesn't tell you anything? The fact that you've had a conversation about how you feel?"

"When you've been through what I have been with Jake, you get close. He's a good friend…that's all, and he's not going anywhere, Edward," I confirm.

He sulks beside me and I'm rather enjoying the fact that Edward Cullen seems to be jealous. "Please don't tell me that you're jealous of Jake."

He flashes his eyes at me, a new look of determination on his beautiful face. My breathing hitches as the mood in the room shifts dramatically. "Jealous? No. You're here with me and not with him. And I've done something I'm fairly certain he hasn't," he says, his voice lower while he slowly moves closer.

"And what might that be?" I ask, sinking further back into the couch.

"I've painted you," he whispers. I raise my eyebrows to him. "I've painted here." He brushes he lips across my collarbone, my head involuntarily falling back to the couch. Jeez, I'm trying really hard here not to succumb to him, but he's making it virtually impossible. "And I've painted here." He trails his fingers down the front of the t-shirt, skimming lightly over my breasts. My nipples pebble instantly, just begging him for more. "And here." He moves his fingers down slowly, stilling them at my hip. "Has physio-boy ever done that?"

I shake my head. "No," I squeak while his eyes darken and he narrows them at me.

"And will you ever let him do that?" he asks, his voice barely audible.

I swallow loudly. "No."

"I don't want anyone else painting you, Bella."

I just murmur, because right now, I don't think I can form a coherent sentence. My entire body is on fire, my heart flying as he inches closer, pressing his solid torso into mine.

"Stay the night," he mumbles next to my ear. "Please?"

Something in my brain registers what that actually means, and I remember how to speak…only marginally. "I can't."

He stills his lips on mine and pulls back from me. "Can't or won't?" he asks.

"Can't. I need…things to stay," I murmur.

"I can get you anything you want, Bella," he says suggestively, brushing my hair behind my shoulder and attaching his lips to my neck.

Holy crap! _Focus, Bella! _"I mean for my leg, Edward."

He sits straight up, looking concerned. "I'm sorry. I totally didn't even think about that," he says.

"I know, and that's ok. I have to though. It's my reality. I can't really be spontaneous; I need to plan pretty much everything, especially if it involves staying away from home."

"If you tell me what you need, I'll make sure its here. You know, for next time," he says, raising his eyebrows.

"Next time?" _There's going to be a next time?_

"Isn't it obvious that I want there to be next time?" Holy fuck…he's serious, and suddenly, the room is spinning and I feel faint.

"I think we need to slow down, Edward. This is all happening pretty fast for me," I admit reluctantly.

"Bella, this_ is_ slow for me," he says darkly.

"It is, huh?"

"Mmmmm," he mutters, tracing his fingers over my stomach and then back up to my neck. "I like this shirt on you."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do. But you know what?" he asks, lacing his fingers through my hair.

"What?"

"I think it would look much better off you," he whispers.

I take a sharp breath in. "Edward…" I warn.

"Bella…"

I'm on the verge of a panic attack, or an orgasm…I can't figure out which. But, what I do know is I need to get out of here, right now. It's too much, too fast, too soon. I place both hands on his chest and push him back slightly. "Edward. I can't do this right now. I know you probably have expectations about tonight…I mean…the painting, the dinner…and I'm know I've been giving you mixed signals. Would you understand if I told you…I need time before we…" My voice trails and I'm sure I turn eight shades of red.

He shuts his eyes, his exceeding long lashes making me quiver, before he inhales softly and then nods his head in acquiescence. "I'm sorry, Bella. I know I'm intense. I find it hard to control myself around you and I thought that you felt the same way," he says quietly.

"I do," I say, a little too quickly. "I just also know that I don't want to rush into this with you. I want to get to know you. I mean, this is the first time we've actually really talked, and I think we both have a lot more to say."

He rests his forehead on mine. "I didn't mean to push you," he whispers apologetically.

"It's ok, Edward. This isn't you…it's me. If I was different, if I didn't have five years worth of insecurities and doubt and disappointment, I think we'd already be in your bed."

He laughs softly. "I don't want you to be disappointed anymore. You're a beautiful person, Bella, and you deserve someone who recognizes that," he says, his eyes fixated on my lips. "So, what are the boundaries, then?"

"The boundaries?" I ask tentatively.

"Yeah, what _are _you comfortable with?"

Honestly, I don't know how to answer that right now. He smirks and then slowly skims his lips across mine. "This seems ok, right?" He brings my bottom lip into his mouth before his tongue finds mine and starts to move. Fuck, it's more than ok. It's sensory overload. To feel him against me, his lips moving with mine, urgently, passionately, it's staggering. He stops abruptly, looking back at me for my response.

"Yeah, that's ok," I breathe. He smiles and lowers his lips to my neck, which of course, makes me involuntarily arch towards him while he moves across my collarbone. "That's ok, too," I murmur. I think I like this little game of discovery. I just hope I can stop before…

"How about this?" He interrupts my internal dialogue by trailing his fingers up under the t-shirt, cupping my breast and groaning softly. "So perfect," he murmurs. The inner panic button clearly has been pressed, my heart accelerates and I shift back slightly from him. He removes his hand quickly and shifts back. "Ok. So, now we know the boundaries. Are you ok with them?"

I try to steady my breathing. "I think the question is, are you?"

"I'm willing to do whatever it takes, Bella. I meant what I said. I don't want to be _that guy _anymore. You've seen what I've done because of you. You know how I feel. I'll be here, waiting, whenever you're ready for more."

My mouth falls open. He's so disarming, so different from who I thought he was. I'm right back to being annoyed with myself on forming an opinion about Edward before I got to know him; for almost missing the chance to get to know him. I cup his face between my hands. "Thank you for understanding."

"It doesn't mean I'm not going to launch myself at you every chance I get," he says smugly.

"I'm kind of counting on that," I admit. "Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time. Are you really sure about donating the painting?"

"Yeah. I am. You've seen the studio. I've got loads up there, and this one feels like its own piece, you know? Like it stands alone."

"It'll make a big difference for The Foundation. I'm sure of it," I say firmly.

"I hope so, although I'm more interested in the difference it's going to make for us."

Oh, he would have to say stuff like that, making me want him even more. "Me, too." He stares back at me, awaiting my next move. "I should go. It's getting late, and I still have the good 'ole nightly routine to do," I say, rolling my eyes.

He nods his head. "I'll get one of those drying racks, and if you tell me what soaps and stuff you use, I'll have them here…you know, when you're ready," he says, smirking at me.

I push up from the couch and he stands beside me. "How about I bring the soaps and stuff, as you call them, when I'm ready? Canadian Tire has cheap racks if you're interested," I suggest.

"I'll see what I can do," he says, the corners of his mouth turning up.

He keeps his hand on the small of my back while we make our way to the door. "Oh! My clothes. I should get them."

"I'll get them cleaned for you, if I can. If not, I'll buy you new ones. It's my fault they're ruined," he says, shaking his head slightly, but not looking too concerned about the clothes.

"I'll get these back to you," I say, hiking the running pants up so they don't fall off my waist.

"You don't have to do that, Bella," he says quickly, his eyes raking down my body.

I open the door and he holds it, leaning forward. The rain is still misting down, cooling me instantly. "You're still coming over for dinner tomorrow, right?" I ask hopefully.

"Of course. I'll be there. I'll even bring wine. What are we having? I wouldn't want to bring the wrong one," he says, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"I'm making lasagna. Jazz loves it and he's been asking for it for a couple of weeks."

He nods his head. "Sounds wonderful."

"Oh, that reminds me. Have you thought more about the article for the magazine with Alice? You guys can talk about it tomorrow night," I say, blinking up at him, amazed that I almost forgot to talk about this after I promised Alice I would. Edward seems to make me forget about a lot of things, actually.

He scowls slightly, but nods his head. "Yeah. I'll do it," he says, keeping his eyes locked with mine.

"Thanks, and Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd check out those drying racks, if I were you. I may be ready sooner than you think."

His eyes grow wide and he laces his fingers through my hair, pulling me to him and kissing me until I almost forget I'm supposed to be leaving. "You don't play fair," he murmurs when he finally releases me.

"Never said I did," I say against his lips. He laughs and shakes his head, watching me while I back up from him.

"Good night, Bella."

"Night, Edward." I turn and make my way to the Jeep, enjoying the fact that he's watching me.

I dart across the street and climb into the Jeep, only getting marginally wet from the rain in the process. I fish the keys out of my bag and start the engine. I wave to Edward before splashing off through the puddles down the street, a quirky smile replacing the frown I thought was permanently etched there.

Sitting at the red light at the end of the street, I'm amazed at the turn of events that have taken place tonight. Edward, the painting, the dancing, the wine room… it's all a little hard to believe. But I want to. I want to believe so badly, it hurts. But, I'm also fully aware that Edward's list of issues is just as long as mine. Maybe that's why this can work. Maybe his little wine-relationship analogy was meant for us. We do kind of compliment each other, each with our own issues, each looking desperately for something that will make us better.

An annoying honk from the car behind me, coupled with a double flash of high beams, brings me out of my Edward-induced haze for the second time today, and I accelerate down the street. I glance in the rear-view mirror and wave my hand, silently apologizing.

The rain on the windshield blurs my vision slightly, and I switch the wipers on, gripping the steering wheel why I wind my way through the relatively empty streets. I'm not a fan of driving in the dark, in the rain. The rain picks up marginally, and I have difficulty seeing because this idiot behind me still has his high beams on. God, I hate when people do that.

I take the next left, an alternate route home, hopeful that the car behind me is off to some bar and not the residential area. My hope fades as the car takes the left, following closely…too closely in this type of weather, and now I'm officially pissed off. There's no need for this asshole to be this close to me, and there's certainly no call for leaving high beams on in the city.

I pick up speed towards the next light as the rain continues to pour down, my heart starting to pound as the car behind me matches my pace. Holy fuck. I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to remember what words of wisdom Dad had for this particular situation. Right now, I really wish I had listened more closely to his never ending lectures on how to protect myself. The car increases its speed and darts out beside me into the empty oncoming traffic lane.

My breathing is coming so fast, it's fogging the windows. This person, whoever it is, is a lunatic. I take my foot off the accelerator, hoping they will pass and end this insane little game. I feel the blood pumping faster through my veins as the car slows with me, and then, suddenly, jerks intently to the right, forcing me to swerve towards to sidewalk. I right the Jeep and keep my eyes focused on the road ahead, now remembering what Charlie told me to do.

I quickly press the automatic lock for the doors and turn right sharply, down the next street, accelerating the Jeep, my breathing coming in gasps. I watch in the rear-view mirror as the car turns with me, the back window wiper, which I've needed to get replaced for some time now, blurring anything that could identify what kind of a car this is. I've got nothing to go on. It looks black, maybe? Oh, Charlie would not be happy with my lack of attention to detail, right now.

I slow down again, the car behind jerking out into the left lane and taking another angle at the Jeep, forcing me to stop completely, and I narrowly avoid going over the curb and onto the sidewalk. I stay with my hands now white knuckled on the steering wheel, and watch the car slow to a stop in the middle of the street in front of me.

Holy fuck. Panic overtakes me while I stare blankly out the window, trying to get a look at the car, the driver, anything at all. All I see is blackened windows, and a dark blue car. I think the symbol on the back is a Lexus, but I can't be sure…it could be a Toyota; they all look the same to me.

A glaring horn from an oncoming pick up truck causes the car to shift abruptly into the right lane, and it screeches off down the street, sending water from the puddles flying in either direction. I squint, trying to make out the license plate while it speeds away. All I can tell is that it doesn't look like there are numbers on it at all. It looks like one of those customized plates, like Emmett got last year, only this one is surrounded by a bright red frame.

I put the Jeep in park and take a series of deliberate breathes while the rain flows down the windshield. Panic attacks have nothing on this. I don't know what the fuck that was. It could have been kids playing some stupid street game designed to scare the hell out people. If that's the case, mission accomplished, assholes.

Instinct kicks in, and I slowly put the Jeep into drive and head for the police station, my hands shaking the whole way. That's where Charlie said I should go in a situation like this, and for once, I'm going to listen to him.

**Chapter End Notes**

**Just a random street game?**

**Up next, EPOV.**

**Twitter: CarLemon**


	22. Chapter 22

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. July 2010.

**Thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who provides the banner, and writes four amazing stories: Don't Try to Save Me, At Your Own Risk, Hate Me, and Here We Go Again. She is all kinds of wonderful!**

**Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thanks as always for turning these around so quickly.**

**Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean the world. **

**Shall we check in with Edward?**

EPOV

Chapter 22

I lean against the door frame, watching Bella while she makes her way to her Jeep. Even with my oversized running pants practically falling off her, she looks fantastically delectable. My heart is beating a fucking mile a minute from that kiss, but also because tonight, we had what I consider to be a major breakthrough.

Even though I really, really wish she would have stayed the night, I understand the hesitation and the reasoning. The last thing I want is for her to feel uncomfortable. And in case she actually _is_ ready sooner rather than later, I'll be getting one of the drying racks as soon as humanely possible. My dick twitches in agreement.

She climbs into the Jeep, gives me a quick wave, and then disappears down the street. I shut and lock the door, climbing the stairs to take in what I've painted tonight. The studio is a bit of a disaster with paint splattered everywhere and brushes just begging to be used again. I methodically clean up, taking my time and soaking in the palatable change in the feel of the room. It feels alive; I feel alive, like I haven't felt in months, if ever.

The painting for the auction is good…actually, it's more than good, and I wonder for a minute what James is going to create. That errant thought kills my Bella-induced buzz almost immediately. Goddamn James and Jane, too, for that matter. The pair of them deserve each other. I'll be relieved when this collection is finished and I can rid myself of her.

I know that I owe Jane a lot. She introduced me to people who would otherwise never have known my work existed. She opened doors when others shut them in my face. But, over the last few months, I've come to realize that I can do this without her. It's not as if I don't have other art dealers contacting me on a regular basis, and she knows it. The art world is a very small one, and to be honest, I think she's a little panicked about the thought of me going to another art dealer.

When my collection started selling, it sent a bit of a ripple through the community. Jane had clawed her way to the top with several older, successful, and well known artists. So, for her to take someone like me - a virtual unknown at the time - into her inner sanctum of contacts, was a bit shocking. With my success, hers only sky rocketed, and she milked it for all it was worth, luring new and talented artists to sign with her, promising them similar success.

Lately, that hasn't worked out too well for her. A few of the artists that she used to represent have gone out on their own. Some stopped creating altogether when the economy took a dive last year. Sure, she's had a few successful artists, but nothing to the scale of what we had.

What we had…I shut my eyes to try to rid myself of those particular memories. It's not as if she seduced me and it was all one sided. I'm fully aware that I was a willing and very active participant…for longer than I should have been. But now, well…it's just getting awkward. I need to get this collection completed and sold so I can walk away from her for good.

I know that's not going to be easy. Jane is persistent and her connections are impressive. Letting her go after this is done won't be easy, and she could make things extremely difficult for me. But, I also know it's worth it. I've made enough money to live extremely comfortably, and once I'm free of her, I know I'll ultimately be happier.

Once the studio is as cleaned as it can be, I make my way back up to the loft and crawl into a very empty, very cold bed. I long for Bella. Just to hold her, to feel her next to me…I relive how she felt downstairs, before she pulled away. I don't know how long I'm going to have to wait to be with her like that again.

I tried to establish some lame ass boundaries tonight, which were for her benefit only. God knows how the hell I'm going to stick to those, but I know I need to try to. Try and fail miserably most likely, because there is no way I'm going to be able to keep my hands off her for long. I've not felt anything like this, and I want her to be more than just some random fuck. I'm not entirely sure if she fully believes me, but I have to hope she does...no, actually, I have to prove that I mean what I said tonight.

Hearing her pour her story out was a defining moment for us, I think. She's got to be the strongest person I know, and I wonder briefly if I'm making a mistake. I'm not a good person. At least, I haven't been since Mom died and she deserves a good person. Not some shell of a pathetic excuse of a man that is just starting to realize the degrees of his inadequacy. And still, I know I'm not strong enough to stay away from her. She fuels my creativity, my desire, my want to be a better person - for her and for me. As I fall into a restless sleep, I wonder what she's thinking about, and I hope that it's me.

I wake to a steady morning rain and my cell phone buzzing relentlessly on the dresser. I whip the covers off and retrieve the phone, the typical morning wood aching and complaining. I glance at the display before answering. "Carlisle, its kind of early for a wakeup call, isn't it?"

"You never were very good in the morning, Edward. Are you still in bed? It's after ten-thirty. Oh, wait...ahhh…am I interrupting something?" he asks nervously.

I laugh quickly. "No. I just had a long night."

"Is everything, ok?" he asks, sounding concerned.

I snicker. It's going to take some getting used to having Carlisle actually give a shit about me, but he does appear to be trying. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just did a lot of painting last night," I explain, smirking to myself, and flashing back momentarily to Bella in the studio, covered with my brush strokes. The memory doesn't escape my dick, which is practically looking at me and just begging for release. I'm going to have to do something about this…soon.

"Are you free for brunch today? Esme and I would love to spend more time with you. Maybe you could show us what you've been working on," he suggests hopefully.

"Carlisle, I don't show my work to anyone before it's done." Well, apparently, now I do. But I don't want anyone other than Bella to see it before it's done.

"Oh, right," he says quietly.

I hear the regret in his voice and instantly feel horrible. "It's a collection, Carlisle. It's not done, so what you would see would be incomplete, and it probably wouldn't make a whole lot of sense. I can show you something I've done for the charity auction," I offer.

"Oh, that would be wonderful, Edward." Wonderful? It's extremely hard for me to wrap my head around the drastic change in Carlisle. The fact that he wants to spend time with me that doesn't involve scoping out hot women for him to fuck is a bit of a milestone.

I give Carlisle my address again, because he's lost it, and he tells me they'll be here within the hour. Nothing like jumping right in with both feet then, I guess.

I shower quickly, ignoring my raging hard-on, because I'm really trying to make an effort to be normal, and I'm fairly certain normal doesn't include whacking off eight times a day to whatever Bella-fantasy I've chosen to conjure up...or maybe for me, that is my normal.

After enduring the coldest shower in history, I move to the studio and double check that the paintings are covered before descending to the main floor to wait for Carlisle's impending visit.

When I open the door to them a few minutes later, he's standing there holding an umbrella over Esme, while the rain soaks him. They are laughing like little kids, which affects me more than it should. It reminds me of the person he used to be with mom, and I'm filled with regret, yet again, at the time we've both wasted. "Come on in. You guys are soaked," I say, holding the door open for them.

Once they've dried off and I've given them the mini tour, I lead them up to the second floor. "So,this is my studio," I say nervously. I don't know why I'm so tense. I mean, I know my work is good, but this is Carlisle...and I want him to like it.

"You have so many paintings!" Esme gushes, looking at the studio wide-eyed.

"Yeah, I paint in collections. Nineteen pieces," I say pointedly, my eyes locked to Carlisle's.

Carlisle stares back at me with some masked emotion, and then crosses the room to me purposefully. "She would be proud of you, Edward. I'm proud of you," he manages, his voice raspy. I'm floored that he realizes the significance of the number. That throughout his years of bullshit and womanizing, he grasps the concept of how important it is to both of us. He looks at me with sadness and then turns to the painting for the auction. "It's very vivid. Kind of intense."

"It's beautiful, Edward. You have a wonderful gift," Esme says sincerely. We stand silently in the studio, an unfamiliar warmth teasing me, and I wonder if it's possible for Carlisle and I to salvage our relationship. Carlisle smiles at me, his lips pressed together, fighting some other emotion it seems, and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.

Brunch passes quickly with Esme going on about how I should donate more paintings; perhaps for cancer research. I nod my head in silent approval, which results in her practically smothering me with the force of a bear-like hug. She's stronger than she looks.

Through all of it, Carlisle just watches her adoringly. They are never physically separated by more than a few moments. They seem to gravitate to one another with reassuring touches and gentle squeezes. It's difficult for me to wrap my head around, but he genuinely seems to love her. Carlisle has thought about no one but himself for too long, and it's obvious that his recent experience has clearly changed him.

We make plans to see each other before they go back to Toronto next week. I watch them walk hand in hand, back to the Wedgewood hotel while Carlisle shields her from the rain with the umbrella, getting himself completely soaked in the process.

I decide to stop at James' store on the way home. While what happened outside the bar doesn't seem to have fazed Bella, the asshole needs to learn his place, and I intend to make sure he knows that's nowhere near her.

The kid with the piercings is behind the cash register again. I'm more than a little annoyed because I don't want to wait to have this conversation with James. The kid nods his head and continues to read whatever fascinating piece of trash magazine he has in front of him. "James is out back," he mumbles, looking bored.

"Thanks, man." I stalk to the back of the store. The shrieking sound of annoying rap music gets infinitely louder as I reach a tacky, beige beaded curtain, which stands between me and what James seems to equate to a studio. I stop abruptly. I know I'm dangerously close crossing a line right now and invading his space when he's probably working; something I know all too well and loathe when it happens to me. So, instead of just barging in on him, I knock on the wall. "James, you in there?" I ask, having to raise my voice over the vile rap song.

"Yeah, come on in," he hollers, sounding out of breath. I take a tentative step into the room and stop dead in my tracks. James is shirtless and sweating like a pig, painting his heart out, while some naked model lies across a waist level wooden table in the middle of the room. There's a fucking unfortunate visual that's going to stay with me for a while.

"Hey, man, sorry. I know you're working. I can come back," I say, keeping my eyes fixed to the ratty, stained grey carpet on the floor, and not wanting to see any more than I already have.

"No. It's cool, Edward. To what do I owe the honour of your presence in _my_ studio?" he asks, not stopping his painting.

My eyes flicker to the naked model, whose eyes are glued to some fascinating pattern I'm sure she's imagining on the ceiling. There are deliberate thick, dark circles that look like they've been painted under her eyes. Her hands are stretched up over her head and tied together with a black silk ribbon. This gives me some idea of the type of painting James does, and while it's not at all my taste, I recognize that every artist is different, which is what makes us all so unique. I'm also fully aware that it's going to be awkward to have this particular conversation with him, under these circumstances.

"It's ok. I can talk to you later, James." I turn for the beaded curtain and distinctly hear him slam his brush down on the easel in front of him.

The blaring rap music stops abruptly and the blood starts to gush through my veins. The mood shifts immediately in the room. I know that James isn't going to let me just leave. "You're here, so it must be important. Just spill it, Edward."

I turn back to him and he's standing with his head cocked to the side, his jaw set, and an eyebrow raised as we stare at each other in lock down mode. The model is still lying there, not moving and completely oblivious. He's clearly daring me, and I'm not one to back down, especially from someone like James. "Jane told me you were donating something to the auction for The Foundation," I say, breaking the silence.

He smirks and shakes his head, returning his attention back to the easel. This gives me the opportunity to take in the rest of the studio, which is stark and bare. The only things in the small room are the table the model is on, the easel he's currently working with, and an old card table he has beside him, which houses his painting supplies. The only light in the room comes from a couple of exposed bulbs that hang from the ceiling from long wires and reflect in the multitude of mirrors he has lining the walls. The mirrors are distracting as hell, to say the least, as his reflection and mine bounce back to me from disturbing angles. I'm not sure how he can focus on painting with so much going on around him. It's sensory overload.

I remember my first studio, and for a nanosecond, I kind of feel for James. After university, I painted in the living room of my grungy apartment, which was, essentially, no bigger than a closet. I know what it's like to be where he is… before I got discovered…before Jane opened doors for me and changed everything.

"You came all the way down here to talk about the auction? Tell me something. Which one of the three fucked you to get you to agree to that bullshit?" he asks incredulously.

"I'm not fucking any of them," I say, snapping my eyes back to him.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really, James."

He chuckles darkly. "Hmm, guess that means they're fair game, then. Not that it would stop me, anyway," he sneers.

I take a step towards him. "You stay the fuck away from Bella." I'm practically growling, my breath starting to come more quickly, my hands clenched so tightly they're starting to become painful.

He lowers the brush and turns to me, holding his free hand up as if in surrender. _That's right, you prick. She's mine. _

"Whoa, Edward. Chill the fuck out. The three of them are hot. You of all people should appreciate wanting to tap some of that," he says smugly.

"I'm only going to say this once, James. If you so much as fucking look the wrong way in her direction again..."

"Edward, what the fuck, man? What's gotten up your ass? I'm just talking about having a little fun. Are you so caught up in this tortured artist crap that you've forgotten what that is?" he asks, clearly mocking me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the anger to settle. I open them and glance at the piece that James is painting, and all rational thought leaves me. It's the model's body, in perfect anatomical proportion, actually beautifully painted, the colours electrifying and vibrant, but, with Bella's face. Every detail; the depth of her eyes, her beautiful mouth, her thick hair cascading down and over one pert nipple. The fury boils and rages until I feel like I'm going to explode. "What the fuck is this?" I fume.

"I'm painting, Edward. You know? Inspiration and all? I got inspired," James taunts.

"You fucking prick." I cross the room to him, blinded by rage, unable to control the emotion that burns through me.

He places both hands on my chest and pushes me back forcefully, taking a protective stance in front of the painting. "Get a fucking grip, man! It's a painting. Relax." He glares at me and then he smirks. "She really is beautiful, isn't she?" He keeps his eyes narrowed and locked to mine as he lifts his head to the model, who is still lying oblivious on the table. "Such a fascinating subject, don't you think?" he asks.

"James, Bella and I are..."

"Are what, Edward? You're nothing to her, well, according to her, anyway," he says forcefully.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, before you go all ape-shit on me, maybe you better get your fucking facts straight. She told me you guys aren't together," he says firmly. What the fuck? When did Bella and James have a conversation about me?

"Watch your step, James. Bella is...important."

"Which is what? Code for you haven't fucked her yet? You know what? That's not my problem, so you can cut the brooding artist act. And what makes you think this is Bella, anyway? It's my interpretation of Heidi here." He flickers his eyes towards the model, who has now diverted her attention from the ceiling to us.

"You know that's Bella, James. She may as well be the one sprawled out and naked on your table," I shout back at him.

"Interesting that you can see a likeness. And your point is?" he asks, his eyes piercing.

"You don't see how fucked up that is?"

"No more fucked up than you barging into my studio all possessive and territorial and trying to stake a claim to someone who isn't yours. What's your inspiration these days, Edward? I'm curious." My mouth falls open. "Yeah, I thought so. Better take a look in the mirror before you go judging someone else's work. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a painting to finish." James turns back to the easel and resumes painting feverishly. "Arch your back a bit more, doll," he barks.

"I mean it, man," I warn.

"You mean what exactly, Cullen? You've got a lot of fucking nerve coming in here and threatening me. The last time I checked, this was my studio, and no, it may not be as fucking fancy or expensive as yours, but its mine, and right now, you're really starting to piss me off," he snarls.

"What exactly did you plan to do the other night at the bar with Bella?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asks, turning from the painting to glare at me.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Do you always wait outside of bars at night for vulnerable, drunk women?"

His face falls slightly, while the paint starts to drip from the brush onto the carpet. "What the fuck is this about, Edward? Are you worried about a little competition at the auction, or with Bella?" he asks pointedly.

"I'm not _worried_ about anything, James," I snarl back.

"Then, what are you doing here, threatening me? This isn't fucking 1918, Edward. Bella is one feisty woman, and she can take care of herself," he says as if he knows a fucking thing about her.

"You don't know anything about Bella."

"I know enough to want to know more. And until she tells me otherwise, I'll keep trying to learn more," he says decisively.

The model sits up on the table and clears her throat. "Ah, as much as I'm enjoying seeing you two assholes piss all over each other, I'm on the clock here. Your hour is almost up, James, unless you want to pay another three hundred, which I'm all for taking from you. But this isn't a peep show, and I didn't sign on for an audience," she says firmly.

James narrows his eyes at me. "Like I said, Cullen…you're interrupting me," he grumbles. He turns back to the easel and switches the rap music back on, cranking the volume until it's painful.

It takes everything in me to back up from James and leave through the beaded curtain, knowing if I don't leave right now, things are going to turn extremely ugly. I also know that James is right on some level. I realize that this _is_ just his version of the creative process, but I can't help but feeling sick to my stomach. He has no idea who Bella really is, and I have to believe she'd have an opinion with what he's painted; probably not a very good one. I bolt from his store, feeling drained and questioning everything I've painted since I met Bella.

Driving home is a blur. I have no idea how I'm standing in front of all of the canvasses, their covers off and on the floor of the studio. I study each one carefully, looking for something that tells me I did the right thing in painting them that I didn't just selfishly use her for this. That what I feel for her goes beyond what's painted up here.

I should have never gone to talk to James. I never question my work. Not once I've committed to it. And so, I do the only thing I can to rid myself of this sinking feeling. I switch on my iPod and I paint.

I paint for every fuck up I've ever had. For every day I didn't call Carlisle when I should have. For everything I've questioned in my life, and the things I hope to change. It's feverish, desperate, and for once, in this collection, it's inspired by me.

It's in stark contrast to the other finished pieces, but it also fits with them somehow. The canvas is separated down the middle with a thick, bold, black vertical line. An intricate mass of muted grey on one side bursts into simple, vibrant primary colours that swirl on the other side. I don't want to question myself anymore. I don't want to live the pathetic excuse of a life I had. I want more.

The track on the iPod switches from Holst to a more soothing Chopin, allowing me to actually hear that my cell phone is buzzing on the desk. I drop the brush on the desk and glance at the display. "Hey, Emmett."

"Hey, Emmett? Is that all you have to say to me? You're over an hour late, man. I've been trying to get you for the last half an hour," he says, sounding extremely pissed off.

Oh shit! Dinner at Bella's. "I'll be right there, Emmett. Fuck, I've been painting," I say, as if that's an appropriate explanation. Bella is going to fucking kill me.

"Jesus Christ, Edward! She was starting to think that you weren't coming. You can't do shit like this to her," he says.

"I'm coming, Emmett. Tell her I'm sorry. I'll be there in like twenty minutes." I take the stairs two at a time to the bedroom and whip off my paint encrusted jeans, cradling the phone between my head and my shoulder while he continues to chastise me.

"You can do your own apologizing, dude. It's not going to be pretty. Word to the wise, don't keep the women waiting. Trust me. Rosie kicks my ass every single time I'm late. Not that the make up sex isn't spectacular. I mean, sometimes, I even do it on purpose," he says, laughing to himself.

"Thanks for the visual there, Em. Tell her I'll be there soon, ok?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just get here, man."

I hang up from Emmett and change into fresh clothes, washing the paint off as much as I can from my face and hair. I can't believe I've painted for the entire day. I bolt down the stairs and into the wine room and grab a bottle of 2001 Giorgio Primo Chianti, for what I'm sure is now cold lasagna, and a 2006 Summerhill Zweigelt ice wine.

I arrive at Bella's in less than twenty minutes, silently thanking the traffic Gods that there were no accidents on the way. I can hear laughter coming from her open windows as I make my way to the door and knock tentatively, shifting nervously, the anticipation of seeing her burning through me. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since I've seen her and it feels like an eternity. The door whips open and she cocks her head to the side, the raised eyebrow higher than normal while she glares at me from behind the screen door. "I'm sorry. I was painting, and time…"

"Got away from you?" she asks smugly.

"Yeah. I have wine," I say meagerly, holding up both bottles as a peace offering.

She smirks and I breathe a tentative sigh of relief that she doesn't appear pissed off…yet. "Come on in," she says, opening the screen door.

I take a step in and instantly feel calmer being back in her house…calmer and hard…really, really hard. "You look beautiful. I missed you," I say, shifting uncomfortably and willing the beast to behave. She's wearing a tight white tank top under a dark blue sweater that makes her look incredibly tempting.

"Really? You're always late when you miss someone?" she asks in disbelief. Oh shit…she _is_ pissed off.

"I'm sorry. You know how I get when I paint and I just…there's no excuse, really. I'm an idiot," I say, shaking my head at just how pathetic I am.

"Well, now we're getting somewhere," she says, trying hard not to smile at me.

I feel a glimmer of hope that I haven't completely ruined the evening. "I hope you guys went ahead and ate," I say, turning my head towards the kitchen.

"Yeah, we were just thinking about dessert."

"Oh, perfect. I brought this," I say, holding up the ice wine.

"Another lesson in wine this evening?" she asks, looking up at me innocently.

Fucking hell. She's going to kill me. Just one look and I'm gone. "Yes. You'll love it. Trust me. There's something about ice wine." I hold the bottle out to her and she takes it from me, our fingers touching, sending the warmth straight through me.

She brushes her fingers over mine, which I pray she did intentionally, and she takes a step towards me. "There's something about you," she mumbles, looking up at me from under her lashes. "I'm glad you're here. I was starting to think that maybe…"

Holy fuck, don't look at me like that. My self control is hanging on by a thread right now. "Don't think that, ok? There isn't anywhere else I want to be right now, Bella," I say firmly, begging her to believe me.

"Really?" she asks, her eyes pleading with me.

I reach for her hand and lace my fingers with hers, squeezing gently. "Really. Let's go learn about ice wine."

"If you insist," she says, pulling me towards the kitchen. I stifle a groan and follow her towards the crowd at the table while my dick complains. It's going to be an extremely long night.

Chapter End Notes

**Enjoy: Holst's Jupiter: www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=3B49N46I39Y**

**Chopin Ballade No. 1: www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=RR7eUSFsn28**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

**Up next BPOV and lovely ice wine.**

**Twitter: CarLemon**


	23. Chapter 23

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. July 2010.

**A million thanks to my wonderful beta xrxdanixrx, who provides the banner, and writes four amazing stories: Don't Try to Save Me, At Your Own Risk, Hate Me, and Here We Go Again. Much love, hun!**

**Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thanks as always for turning these around so quickly.**

**Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean everything. **

**Let's see how Bella's day shapes up…come, join me.**

BPOV

Chapter 23

I lie in bed, unable to sleep. The adrenaline from the incident which the police are calling "last night's episode," fading with each passing second. According to the alarm clock by the bed, which is now my new best friend, its four fifty-nine. I think I may have gotten three hours of extremely restless sleep so far, if I'm lucky.

At least the police were helpful and listened intently. Once they found out I was Charlie's daughter, I was surrounded by more officers than I'm sure were necessary. They were overly attentive, wanting to know every detail, and scowling in the places I'm sure Charlie would have when I didn't have the answers to their questions.

Because of my inability to provide many relevant details on what happened, there really isn't much that the police can do, other than to say that if it happens again, let them know. Yeah…like I needed to be told that.

So, I turn restlessly, trying desperately to fall asleep and knowing that it's pointless. I vacillate between thinking about the dark blue car and Edward. I wonder how he's going to fit in tonight with the little party of five we have going on.

Last night was a massive step forward…well, for me, anyway. I know that Edward would like to move things along, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same way. I know there are probably plenty of women who would have jumped at the chance to…well…jump him. But, I don't just want to have sex with Edward and end it at that. I know that this is going to be different for both of us, and I'm trying to figure out a way to make it so it's not completely awkward and disappointing. Baby steps…that's what we need to do. He said he was willing to do whatever it takes. Did he really mean that?

I wish Charlie was here. He was always such a fantastic judge of character, and even though he was a man of few words, if I asked him, he would tell me flat out what he thought. No holds barred. Just tell it like it is. I really miss him. It's been a while since I visited his spot at the cottage. It seemed appropriate for his final resting place. It was the one thing Mom and I agreed on. I let her have the new age funeral, with her various spiritual guides, mostly because it distracted her from the intense grief she was experiencing at the time. The lake, we agreed on. It's where he could always escape the stress of his job. Where he could fish and watch the sun come up in the old green rickety row bow with the little motor on the back. It's time I visited him.

The sun is just kissing the horizon when I pull up to the cottage. It's not much, just a simple A-frame with two bedrooms, but it holds a special place in my heart. It's where we spent every summer, until I went to university. It's where Charlie taught me how to fish and Renee taught me how to catch fireflies in little Mason jars. We roasted marshmallows over the open fire pit at the edge of the lake, where Renee would attempt to play the guitar. Charlie would just watch her, with a wistful look on his face, and not say a word about how horrific her guitar playing really was. I smile while the memories come flooding back as they always do when I come here.

I get out of the Jeep and make my way down to the dock. The lake is like a plane of glass this morning, mist rising off the top, a slight damp chill in the air lingering from last night's rain. The ever present loon echoes to me from around the bay. I sit back into the weathered Muskoka chair and shut my eyes, wrapping my sweater around me while the wind picks up slightly.

"Hey, Dad. I'm sorry it's been a while. Things are…well, crazy. No big surprise there. Mom is happy. She's taking some cooking courses, which I'm sure I'll have to be the taste tester for at some point." I open my eyes and listen to the rhythmic swaying of the dock. I remember him cannonballing off the end of it nearly every time Renee and I sunbathed on it.

"They're making me a new prosthetic so I can go skiing. I know you wouldn't approve. I can just see you rolling your eyes at me right now. Would you understand if I told you, I have to do it? For me? Emmett is right about needing to kick the mountain in the ass, and if I can do this…there's probably not much I can't do." I lean my head back and listen as the wind moves through the cedar trees that dot the shoreline.

"I met someone, Dad. Somebody special. At least, I hope he is. His name is Edward and he's kind of like you in a lot of ways. He doesn't take any crap from me, he treats me like a normal person, and he wants to try to understand this. I wish you were here. I wish you could meet him. I wish you could tell me I'm doing the right thing, because I really don't know if I am. I remember you telling me once to trust my instinct. That's what you always did. But what if I'm wrong, Dad? What if he breaks my heart?" My tears fall silently while the wind picks up, rattling the chime that Mom mounted to one of the cedars the day we scattered his ashes. I watch the sun rise higher, and it's eerily quiet, like there isn't another soul out here.

"It's peaceful here this morning. It's the kind of morning you always loved. The water is calm and you can see a perfect reflection of the island across the lake. I bet the fish are biting today." I brush the tears from my cheeks and shut my eyes. "I won't be so long next time. Maybe I'll bring Edward. I miss you, Dad." I sit in the chair, a serene silence washing over me, the way it always seemed to do when I was with Charlie.

XXXXXX

Loblaws grocery store on a Sunday morning is the devil. Why does everyone and their dog wait until Sunday to shop? I have no one to blame but myself. If I was more prepared, I wouldn't be here right now. Instead, I waited until the last minute, and now, I'm stuck in the line from hell that is moving at a snail's pace, while some annoying child begs his mother for a pack of Smarties. She's not giving in and it takes everything in me not to buy the pack for him, just to get the whining to stop.

I'm nudged in the ass by a cart and whirl around to unleash on whatever asshole has pushed me over the edge. "Jake!" I yell, my eyes wide. He flashes me his signature smile and squeezes in between our carts to get closer to me. "What are you doing all the way down here? Isn't this a little far to come for you?"

"I like the selection better here," he says, quirking an eyebrow. Somehow, I think there's more to that than he's saying.

"Really? How is the selection here better than it is at the store that's only two blocks from you?" I ask while I start to place the groceries on the belt to be scanned.

"I don't know. It just is," he says firmly. "Having company over?" He nods his head to the massive amount groceries that are required any time Emmett is coming to dinner.

"Yeah, the usual Sunday dinner with the gang," I say while the mother in front of me drags her little boy kicking and screaming from the cashier. She tries to entice him with a bag of Goldfish crackers, which seems to do the trick. I'm fairly certain everyone in the store is thankful to the makers of those crackers right now.

I finish unloading the contents of the cart, and I'm contemplating asking Jake to join us, when a petite brunette with short hair hollers at him from down the cereal aisle. She's racing to the cart, waving two boxes in her hands. "Jake! Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Corn Pops?" she asks, coming to an abrupt stop when she sees me.

"Corn Pops, babe," he says, offering her a warm smile and backing up from me.

She drops the Corn Pops into cart and sets the other box on the display beside the cash, her eyes never leaving mine. We stand there in awkward silence as Jake just looks between us, struggling, it seems, to form a coherent thought. "Leah…ahhh, this is Bella. Bella, Leah," Jake finally introduces uneasily. "Leah's the nurse I was telling you about."

"Nice to meet you," I say, offering her my hand, which she takes and grips so tightly, I fear she's stopped the blood from circulating.

"You, too," she says coolly, loosening her grip and immediately attaching her hand to Jake's bulging bicep. "How do you two know each other?"

"Jake's my physiotherapist," I say, trying to ease her stress.

"Hey, that's it? I'm just your physio guy now?" he asks jokingly. Leah practically hisses at him and his smile fades immediately. I'll never understand men and their complete lack of common sense. Anyone can see that she's worried about who I am, and he's completely oblivious. I just shake my head, moving to pay for the groceries. "We're still on for our run on Monday, right?"

"Yeah, sounds good. Leah, do you live around here?" I ask.

"Just a few blocks over," she says acidly.

Jake wraps his arms around her waist and lowers his neck, kissing her gently. "Hence the reason I'm in _this_ grocery store," he mutters. She giggles and kisses him back. I breathe a sigh of relief that I'm not the cause of an argument between them. Seeing Jake like this is heart warming. He looks happy…really happy, and he deserves to be.

"Hey, you guys should come over for dinner one night," I suggest.

"You mean like a double date?" Jake asks, raising his eyebrows to me. "With you and that Edward guy?"

"Yeah. We can figure out a day that works tomorrow," I say, paying for the groceries and starting for the cart. "It was good to meet you, Leah."

"You, too, Bella," she says, her icy exterior thawing considerably upon hearing I have a man in my life. Well, I guess I have a man in my life. Oh, why do I have to over think everything?

Once I have the groceries loaded, I make my way back home to start on the three pans of lasagna…an exciting way to spend Sunday afternoon, reminding me of just how empty my life is. I love the gang, truly I do, but at the end of the night, they go home together, and I'm alone. I blame no one but myself and I don't want a pity party. Now, for the first time, I know what I want. I don't want to be the fifth wheel anymore.

By the time four o'clock rolls around, I've cleaned the entire house, and the three lasagnas are cooking. I'm completely exhausted. Only having a few hours of sleep is not a good thing, and so I lie down, pathetically curling up beside the clothes Edward gave me to wear last night, and I shut my eyes.

XXXXXX

"Is that your famous homemade lasagna I smell?" Emmett's load voice booms from the door while he and Rose let themselves in.

"Sure is, Em," I confirm.

Rose sets a massive bowl of salad on the counter and sits down on one of the stools. "No Edward yet?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No, not yet," I say, glancing at the clock on the stove, which reveals that he's already late.

"You look tired. Are you alright?" Rose asks.

"Yeah, I didn't get much sleep last night," I admit.

"Oh my God! I didn't even ask about your night!" Rose shouts. I feel myself turn red while Emmett pulls two Keith's beers out of the fridge. "Spill it, Bella! You're blushing again. What happened?"

"It was…"

"You slept with him!" Rose gushes, her eyes wide.

"Rose! No! It was our first date, for God's sake," I scold.

"Yeah, so? Rosie and I did it on our first date," Emmett says. Rose hits him on the chest. "Babe, it's the truth. You couldn't keep your hands off me."

"I didn't see you complaining," Rose quips.

"Not in a million years." He opens the beers and then kisses her before handing her one. "That was hot. We didn't make it out of your apartment," Emmett says, draping his arm over her shoulder.

"Ok, spare me the details. Seriously, you guys," I mutter, pretending to check on the lasagna, which I already know is done.

"Come on, Bella. Details!" Rose presses. I'm saved, thankfully for the time being, by Alice knocking and skipping into the house with Jasper trailing behind her. Alice passes over a bottle of wine to me, which I immediately decide to open. Jasper sets a pan of brownies on the counter and digs into the fresh bread.

"Your famous Texas Brownies, Jazz?" I ask, hopefully. These brownies are the only thing Jasper makes and they are fantastic.

"As you requested," he says, smirking at me.

"So, let's hear it!" Alice exclaims, practically bouncing up and down. "I've been dying to hear about your date all day. I called you a million times this morning. Were you at his place?"

"No. I wasn't at his place. But, something did happen last night," I say tentatively. Emmett clenches his fists, his eyes narrowing while I describe the incident with the car last night.

"What the hell? Who would do something like that?" Emmett asks, studying me carefully.

"I don't know, Em. The police said there have been a few complaints about erratic driving and street games lately," I say, trying to sound blasé about the whole thing.

"Why didn't you call me?" Rose asks.

"It was pretty late and…"

"Bella, this is us. We would have been there in a heartbeat, hun. You must have been really shaken up," Jasper says.

"We would have come, Bella. You know that," Alice adds, wrapping her arm around my shoulder.

"I know that, but I'm fine, you guys. I was freaked out a bit, but I'm ok. Don't let it ruin the night, alright?"

Alice nods her head and then switches moods completely. "So…the date? Let's hear it, and I mean _all _the details!"

"It was good," I say nonchalantly.

"Good? That's it? That's all you're giving us?" Alice asks, looking hurt that I'm not providing every single detail on what happened.

"You know me, I don't like to kiss and tell, Alice," I tease.

"Oh! You kissed him!" Rose shouts.

"There may have been a few kisses, yeah," I admit, feeling my face flush again.

"That's pretty PG-13, Bella. Don't get all crazy on us, now," Emmett mocks.

"He agreed to do the article, Alice," I say. She claps her hands while Jasper just rolls his eyes.

"What did you have to do to make him agree to that?" Rose asks suggestively.

"Get your minds out of the gutter, you guys."

"Where is he, anyway?" Alice asks.

"I'm sure he's on his way," I say hopefully, turning off the oven and painfully aware that clock is inching past 7:15.

Jasper opens the wine, pouring us all a glass before we move to the living room. I sit facing the clock on the wall that I'm starting to really despise. Edward is late, but maybe he's just trying not to look too eager. I steal a glance out the living room window for the fiftieth time. The rain has started again…maybe there's an accident…oh God, what if he's in an accident? My heart starts to race while my imagination runs wild.

I try to focus on Emmett, who is amusing us with more information than I could ever want on the new car he wants to buy, while the ticking second hand on the clock becomes infinitely louder in the room.

7:25…Alice offers me a sympathetic look from her perch on Jasper's lap. I shrug my shoulders, trying desperately not to make it look like I'm worried.

7:30…Rose reveals that she has purchased her dress for the auction and its "epic." Emmett makes some sort of comment about her looking better out of the dress than in it, and she tells him he's cut off from sex until he can make it more than an hour without talking about it. He looks worried about being able to accomplish that.

7:40…Jasper refills our wine glasses and suggests that maybe Edward is stuck in traffic. Yeah, because there is oh so much traffic on a Sunday night. I've officially moved from worried to pissed off. Emmett is distracted, texting someone on his phone and saying there's a "situation" brewing at the gym.

7:45…The four of them are having some sort of conversation, which I hear only bits and pieces of, but which I think is about the auction. I've resigned myself to the fact that he's not coming. He's decided it's not worth it; that I'm not worth it. I bite my lip to keep from breaking down in front of them and move to the kitchen. I set the lasagna and salad in the middle of the table, disappointment washing over me, keeping my back turned from the living room so they can't see the tears that are freely falling. I feel Emmett wrap his arm around my shoulder. "I'm sure there's an explanation, B. He'll be here," he says softly.

I smile up at him weakly. "Well, dinner is going to be ruined if we wait any longer," I mumble, brushing the tears from my cheeks. I take a deep breath and turn back to the living room. "Let's eat."

"What about Edward?" Alice asks.

"_Edward_ is forty-five minutes late and I didn't slave all day over three lasagnas to have them ruined. We're eating," I bark. They know by the tone of my voice not question me. Emmett excuses himself to check in with the gym, while the rest of the gang sits down.

7:55…Not that I'm keeping track or anything. Emmett is back from checking on whatever crisis is happening at the gym, and is eating like he hasn't tasted food in weeks. "This is fantastic, B!" Emmett garbles with his mouth full.

"Glad you like it. I have another full one you can take home with you," I say.

"Marry me," he says, flashing me his dimples.

"Hey! I make lasagna!" Rose says.

"Not like this, babe," Emmett says, winking at her.

I've completely lost my appetite, the usual banter and stories that I normally love carry on, but are mere echoes around me. I try to smile in the appropriate places, and answer questions if I'm asked, but I feel deflated.

8:25…I down my second glass of wine, annoyed with myself that I've let this get to me as much as it has. Emmett is sitting back in his chair, rubbing his stomach, signaling he's finally done. I clear the plates methodically and set them in the sink. I place Jasper's infamous Texas brownies in the middle of the table and take another look out the window. I shake my head in disappointment and smile at Jasper while he fills up my wine glass…wine…if Edward was here, I'm sure he'd have something to say about this wine. Stupid wine aficionado.

Emmett is cutting into the brownies eagerly when a frantic knock at the door causes us all to freeze in our seats. All heads in the room turn to me while I glare at the door. Rose raises an eyebrow. "Better late then never," she says dryly.

I push back aggressively from the table and make my way to the door, flinging it open, prepared to unload on him. Edward is standing there, his hair slightly wet from the rain, looking apologetic and fucking hot in a black t-shirt and jeans. Both of his hands are wrapped firmly around bottles of wine, and paint is still evident on his fingers and arms. Of course he was painting. A wave of relief washes over me and I silently admonish myself for thinking the worst.

He lets out a nervous breath, his expression almost pained. "I'm sorry. I was painting, and time…"

"Got away from you?" I ask, pointing out the obvious.

"Yeah. I have wine," he says, looking at me like a lost puppy, his piercing eyes silently begging me to forgive him. I open the door further and let him in. He's anxious and panicked, telling me that he missed me today.

"Really? You're always late when you miss someone?" I ask, wanting to prolong his torture just a little more.

"I'm sorry. You know how I get when I paint and I just…there's no excuse, really. I'm an idiot," he admits.

"Well, _now_ we're getting somewhere," I say, enjoying the fact that he's squirming. He's going on about how he brought ice wine and I just watch his perfect lips, my disappointment turning quickly to desire while he tries desperately to save himself. I take the bottles of wine from him, our fingers touching, and the undeniable pull between us sparks immediately.

"I'm glad you're here. I was starting to think that maybe…" My voice trails while he stares down at me intently.

"Don't think that, ok? There isn't anywhere else I want to be right now, Bella," he says sincerely.

"Really?"

"Really. Let's go learn about ice wine."

"If you insist," I say, pulling him into the kitchen.

"Well, look what the rain washed in. Thanks for being on time, Cullen," Rose says sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, guys. I was painting and I lost track of time," he tries to explain, but Rose isn't at all happy about it.

"Perhaps you should invest in a watch," Rose presses. I shoot Rose a warning look. "What? It couldn't hurt."

I roll my eyes at her. "Edward, this is Alice and Jasper."

"Nice to meet you both. Alice, Bella tells me you'd like to do a piece for your magazine. I'd be happy to…" Edward's voice trails as he watches Alice practically combust in her seat with anticipation.

"I have so much to ask you," she says excitedly, getting up from the table and pulling him into the living room. "I brought my recorder just in case. We might as well do this now, right?" She pulls out a notepad and a mini voice recorder from her oversized bag and starts launching questions at him. Jasper joins them while I fix Edward a plate of food and heat it up.

"Getting all domesticated?" Emmett asks, leaning on the counter.

"He needs to eat, right?"

"You really like him, don't you?"

"Is it that obvious?" I ask sarcastically.

"If you didn't like him, he'd still be standing on the porch, freezing his ass off in the rain. It's good to see, Bella. You deserve to be happy," Emmett says sincerely.

Alice's laughter floats into the kitchen while she grills Edward. He's animated while he answers; raking his hands through his hair, furrowing his eyebrows, stretching and twisting his fingers. He's fascinating to watch. I take the food to him, and he digs in eagerly, balancing the plate on his knees.

"You're known for vibrant abstract pieces that are open to interpretation. Where does your inspiration come from?" Alice asks seriously.

Edward swallows and locks his eyes to mine. "I get inspiration from a number of places, lately one extremely remarkable place. My work is deeply personal for me. What you see…it's like I'm dipping my brush in my soul. I paint how things affect me. The colours, the shapes, and the depth of the strokes…it's not random like a lot of people naively believe. Its emotion and passion, longing and hope, and feeling…mostly feeling," he says. I think I've stopped breathing altogether. Silence falls over the room. Edward issues me one of his trademark heated gazes that warms me to the core, and I forget for an instant that there are other people in the room.

"Well, why don't we just take pictures now?" Jasper suggests, breaking the silence.

Alice glances outside to the steady downpour that is soaking the street. "In the rain, Jazz?" she asks skeptically.

"Why not?" Jasper questions.

"I think that's a great idea," Edward says, smiling wickedly.

"Do you have everything you need for that?" Alice asks.

"Yeah, of course. You know the car is always full of my stuff," Jasper confirms.

"And you're ok with that, Edward? Getting soaked?" Alice asks. I can see she's not a fan of this plan.

"I'm not going to melt, Alice, and it's much more edgy than just some generic pose in Jasper's studio," Edward says thoughtfully.

"Hey, there's nothing generic about Jasper's work," Alice snaps possessively.

Edward laughs and wolfs down the last of the lasagna.

"I'll just get my stuff, man. This'll be awesome. Come on, Ali, a little rain will do ya good," Jasper says, winking at her.

Alice scowls at him, clearly not wanting to go out in the rain and get drenched, but he flashes a quirky smile and she visibly melts in front of him. "Alright, but you owe me for this, Jazz." He snickers and pulls her towards the door. They pause for moment and then bolt to his car, while we watch them from living room window. By the time they get all of his equipment and are back to the house, they are both soaked and laughing hysterically.

Edward takes his plate to the kitchen, setting it in the sink. "So, where are we doing this?" he asks Jasper.

"Right In the middle of the street," Jasper says authoritatively. "It'll be really cool with the lighting from the street lamps and the rain coming down on you. You ok with that?"

"Absolutely," Edward says enthusiastically. "Oh, I think we should get Bella in some of the pictures. I mean, if she hadn't asked me, I wouldn't be donating anything."

He smirks at me and I shake my head at him. "Ah, I don't think so," I say definitively.

"Oh, that's an awesome idea!" Alice squeals.

"It was Rose's idea to ask you. If anyone should be in them, it should be her," I argue, knowing its pointless when the entire room clearly wants me to get soaked.

"Well, you're both on the Foundation…we can do a few with both of you. It's for a good cause, Bella. Come on," Jasper encourages.

"I'll do it if you will, Bella," Rose says. "It'll be fun."

"Oh, alright," I grumble. "It's not even worth it to argue with you guys."

Jasper finishes getting his camera ready and then ducks back outside with Edward and Alice. He positions Edward under the glow of the street light directly outside of the living room window and waits while the rain soaks him. Within a few minutes, the droplets are falling off his crazed hair and dripping down to his black t-shirt. The shirt soaks through and clings to his body, outlining the contours of his toned torso.

"Holy fuck," I mutter, unable to tear my eyes away from him.

"Yeah, I heard that," Rose says, joining me as we lean against the couch and watch Jasper work his magic while Alice hangs onto additional lenses for him. Edward doesn't pose…he doesn't have to. He just stands there and issues Jasper a heated smirk while my heart decides to take off into a full on sprint. "That's pretty hot."

"Hey, what am I, chopped liver?" Emmett asks, joining us at the couch.

"Oh, you know you're my only man, Em," Rose says, wrapping her arm around his waist.

"That's right, babe. So, are you really going to go out there and get soaked with them?" he asks eagerly.

"It's for the Foundation, so yeah, I am," Rose says firmly.

"Good thing you both wore white then, huh?" Emmett laughs and I raise an eyebrow at Rose.

"I need to change. This is going to be brutal." I scowl at my choice of outfits tonight. A simple white t-shirt and what Alice called "designer distressed" jeans when we found them a few weeks ago on sale.

Alice whips the door open, soaked to the bone. "All right, you two. Outside now, before I freeze to death," she orders.

"I'm just going to change, Alice," I mutter, trying to escape to my bedroom.

"Like hell you are. Outside!" she barks.

_Ok, then._

I summon up my courage, following Rose as she races out into the rain and joins Edward under the light.

"Ok, just stand on either side of him," Jasper instructs. He positions Rose's arm so that it's hanging off Edwards shoulder, and wraps my arm around Edward's waist. "Ok, no fancy fake model wannabe pouts or smiles. Just look at me and give me what you're feeling."

"So, you want me to stick my tongue out at you?" I ask. He laughs and starts snapping pictures rapidly, the rain freezing as it hits my shoulder, soaking my flimsy white t-shirt quickly.

"That's it for me, Jazz!" Rose yells after only a few minutes. She jumps the puddle that has pooled in front of us and sprints back to the house. I laugh and shiver, my nipples hardening further. Edward wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him, trying to shield me from the rain. Instinctually, my other arm finds its way around his waist.

He lowers his neck, his lips stilling over mine. "Thank you," he whispers, the rain falling from his forehead onto my face.

"Thank you?"

"Yeah, this photo shoot is infinitely better than I ever could have imagined it," he says softly pressing his lips to mine, moving slowly, building until I'm panting, my hands lacing into his hair and edging him closer.

"Ok, that's great, you guys!" Jasper yells, stirring me back to reality. "I think I got some great stuff."

"Come on, let's get dried off," I mutter, pulling on the belt loop of his jeans.

"Do we have to?" he asks, raking his eyes down my body. He bites his lip and shuts his eyes. "You are incredibly enticing, Bella. All wet and wearing white, even."

"Hmm. You're not too bad yourself. But, I'm freezing." He laughs and grabs my hand and we make our way back to the house.

Alice has gotten towels for herself and Jasper, while Emmett is running around outside, jumping in puddles as Rose watches him from the doorway. When he finally makes it inside, she's just shaking her head at him. "You're like a child, Emmett."

"That's why you love me, babe," he says.

She laughs and hands him a towel. "Here, dry off, you nut." He kisses her quickly and then shakes his hair at her before grabbing the towel.

Edward is shivering as Alice drapes a towel over him. "Maybe you should get out of those clothes, Edward. I have your stuff from last night. It hasn't been washed yet, but..." My voice trails while I savour Edward's rain soaked appearance.

"That'll work great," he says, smirking at me and bringing my gawking of him to an unfortunate end .

"Whoa, hold the phone. What happened last night?" Alice asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Edward painted me," I say shyly, stealing her towel from her and wringing my hair out.

"And that required you to get into his clothes?" Alice asks.

"Yeah, it did. The outfit is kind of ruined, I think," Edward admits.

"What?" Her voice raises several octaves.

"Yeah, it had to be done, Alice. I've told her I'll replace what I can. But, it was worth it," Edward states.

"As much as I'd like to hear more about that, I'm soaked and cold, and Jazz owes me a hot bath and a massage," Alice says sharply.

"Oh, my kind of punishment," Emmett chirps. Rose hits him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, we're going to go, too. Thanks for dinner, Bella. Entertaining as always," Rose says.

"Oh wait, Emmett. Don't forget the lasagna." I retrieve it from the kitchen and hand it over to him.

"Thanks, B. You're the best," he says, hugging me tightly.

After seeing them off, Edward excuses himself to the bathroom. I move down to my bedroom and to Edward's clothes from last night that are piled in the middle of the bed.

I knock on the bathroom door tentatively. "Edward? I'll just leave the clothes outside the door, ok?"

The door opens, along with my mouth, while he stands in the muted light of the bathroom, in a towel that is way too small, wrapped around his waist revealing his chiseled chest. My eyes travel down to the defined muscles in his thigh, the soft hair on his legs…his bare feet. And holy fuck… someone is standing at attention under the towel, and wanting a better look. My mouth goes dry, speech evades me.

"I think one of us is entirely too dressed," Edward says, his voice dropping lower. He reaches for my arm and gently tugs me into the bathroom. "I do believe you have a nightly ritual that I need to become more intimately involved with."

My heart races while his fingers graze over the button on my jeans. "Edward," I manage to say.

He silences me, placing two fingers over my mouth. "Let me see if I remember," he whispers. He keeps his eyes locked to mine and slowly undoes the button and the zipper on my jeans. He crouches down in front of me and slowly starts to drag the wet jeans off me. I steady myself, placing my hand on the sink, and slowly lift one leg, and then the prosthetic, and step out of the jeans.

He trails both hands up my prosthetic to my hip and then stands and lifts me over to the tub, setting me down gently on the side. He runs his hand down my thigh, watching it intently, and then raises his head and looks at me…almost like he's asking for permission. I nod my head slowly, grateful that he's not asking me to speak – I don't think I could right now. This is intense. Probably more so than it was the other night…because tonight, I'm sober and I don't need his help with this, but I want it. That and…he's crouching in front of me…in a towel that may as well be nonexistent. I don't dare look down…I'm sure I'll pass out.

He puts a hand on either side of the prosthetic and twists it slightly, pulling gently until it releases into his hands. He looks up at me, a satisfied smile on his face. "I clean it now, right?" he asks quietly.

I nod my head at him and he stands and moves to the vanity, opening it and pulling out the liquid soap and one of the cloths from under the sink. He wets the cloth, applies some soap, and takes his time while I watch his skilled fingers in fascination as he twists and gently rubs the cloth in and around the prosthetic methodically, until he satisfied. "Is that enough?" he asks, finally looking back at me.

I nod my head. "Yeah, that's good," I whisper. The sound of my deep breathing fills the room. He selects a new cloth, rinses it, and then sweeps it in and around the prosthetic. He looks back at me and I smile at him. He picks another cloth and then dries the prosthetic carefully before placing it gently on the rack in the corner. He readjusts the towel around his waist, wets a new cloth, and then stalks back to me.

He crouches down again and begins rubbing the cloth gently over my thigh. "Is this ok?" he asks softly.

Every muscle in my body clenches while he applies only the faintest amount of pressure to my thigh. That this man is willing to do this with me is absolutely mind boggling. "It's perfect," I mumble. "You don't have to…"

"I know. I want to." He continues reverently, almost, his eyes flickering to mine intermittently, the corners of his mouth turned up as he dries my thigh with another cloth. "How did I do?" he asks, standing up and adjusting the towel…again.

"Really good. A solid A, I would say."

"Only an A?" he asks, looking slightly offended.

"You forgot one thing."

"What?" He looks perplexed.

"Lotion," I remind him.

He gets an amused look on his face and moves to the vanity. "Oh well, we couldn't forget that now, could we?" He grabs it from the vanity and brings it back to me, squirting a generous amount onto his hand and rubbing it in gently. "You are so incredibly beautiful, Bella," he murmurs.

"So are you," I whisper. He trails his hand up from my thigh, under my t-shirt, caressing my stomach, his lips skimming along behind. I can no longer contain the emotion, moaning under his touch. He cups my breast and brings his lips to mine.

"I'm sorry. This crosses the boundary, doesn't it?" he asks, stilling his lips on mine.

"What boundary?" I lace my fingers into his damp hair and launch my lips to his. He groans and stands, lifting me with him, his tongue moving slowly at first and then, more urgently. He wraps his hands around my waist, lifting me straight up, carrying me to the bedroom and gently setting me down on the edge of the bed, his lips never leaving mine.

He pulls back and rests his forehead on mine. "Fuck, Bella. You have to stop me," he growls.

"I don't want to stop you, Edward."

His Adam's apple bobs and he opens his eyes to me. "What?" He's practically panting, while his eyes search mine.

I shake my head at him. "I don't want you to stop," I say, my voice barely audible.

"But…I thought…you said…"

"I know what I said. I was scared and..."

"And, you're not scared now?" he asks.

"I'm terrified," I admit.

"Bella, we can't do this if you're terrified."

"I'm only terrified of disappointing you," I admit sadly.

"That's never going to happen, Bella," he says, cupping my face between his hands.

"Never say never, Edward. I'm not as experienced as you."

He lifts me, bringing me up further on the bed and rests my head on the pillow, hovering over me. "How?" he asks.

"How? What?"

"How does this work?" He trails his hand over my thigh and traces the scar, before ghosting his fingers across the top of my boy shorts.

"I don't know," I confess, quivering under him.

"You…don't…know?" He pulls back and looks at me apprehensively.

"I haven't…I mean, not since before…" I stammer, shutting my eyes from the embarrassment.

He traces his fingers down my cheek. "Bella, look at me." I open my eyes to him, afraid to breathe. "Not since before the accident?" he asks tenderly.

"No. I haven't been with anyone since it happened. I'm sorry," I choke out.

"Don't apologize…God, you have nothing to apologize for," he says firmly. "But I want to make sure this is what you want. That you're ready…fuck, that I'm ready. I mean… I'm ready…it's just…" His voice trails and he lowers his mouth to my neck chuckling softly. "I feel like I'm sixteen or something," he says.

I'm actually relieved that he's nervous. God knows I am. "How about we just take this slow? And we don't have to do anything that makes either one of us uncomfortable, Edward. We can figure it out together…like a long, slow journey," I propose.

He's stunned for a moment and then quirks an eyebrow to me. "There's a lot that we can do without…well, without…actually…you know," he stutters.

"Without having sex?" I ask, smirking up at him.

His eyes darken slightly, his face inching closer. "Say that again," he mutters, brushing his nose across my collarbone.

"Say what?"

"Sex," he whispers.

I lean up close to his ear. "Sex," I whimper.

"Jesus Christ, Bella. You make me crazy."

"I do?"

"Can't you feel that?" he asks, flexing his hips forward, his erection hard against me under the towel.

"Yeah, I can feel that," I breathe. "Can I feel more?" I run my hand down his back, tracing where towel sits precariously around his waist.

"Bella," he whispers in warning, closing his eyes, his breathing elevated.

"We have to start the journey somewhere, Edward."

**Chapter End Notes**

**I'll be in a darkened room, with the rain pounding down outside…starting the journey.**

**Twitter: CarLemon**


	24. Chapter 24

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. July 2010.

**A million thanks to fantastic xrxdanixrx, who provides the banner, and writes four amazing stories: Don't Try to Save Me, At Your Own Risk, Hate Me, and Here We Go Again. She's amazing!**

**Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thanks as always for turning these around so quickly.**

**Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean everything. **

**Some of you noted that we didn't hear anything about ice wine in the last chapter…did you really think I'd forget about wine? The night is still young! Let's see how Edward handles the journey, shall we?**

EPOV

Chapter 24

"Bella...I don't want you to do something that you're not ready for," I unbelievably manage to say. What the fuck? Where did that come from? This is what I've been waiting for, dreaming of, hoping for.

"You don't want to?" She stills her hand on the miniscule towel at my waist while my dick twitches in annoyance at the fact that it appears I'm cock blocking myself.

"Fuck…yes...I do. I really, really do. You have no idea how much I want to be with you. But I don't think that you're ready," I whisper, pressing myself closer to her, relishing in how she feels. So right…so perfect.

"Maybe we can start here," she murmurs gently. "Is this alright?" She runs her little hand over my chest as I shiver underneath her. Holy fuck. I'm not going to last more than eighteen seconds.

"Bella," I warn, shutting my eyes and trying to calm the fuck down. It's pointless; my brain is no longer calling the shots. My hands move up her back under the flimsy white t-shirt she has on that is still wet from the rain. _Thank you, Vancouver weather. _ She shudders under my fingertips…she feels fantastic. My heart races, anticipation burning, both of our breathing already elevated, and we've barely even begun.

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"I want to try, Edward…if you do," she says cautiously. "And we don't have to do anything that feels weird or makes you nervous."

_Makes me nervous?_ I'm already nervous…I'm a thousand things right now. Emotion churning and twisting, want, passion…I need to be gentle with her…I don't want to rush this. I brush her wet hair away from her face and she shuts her eyes.

"Taking it slow, right?" I ask, skimming my nose along her jaw while she leans back onto the pillow, exposing her glorious neck to me. I press my lips against it, feeling her pulse quicken while she pulls her fingers through my hair. "I'll be right back."

"Wha…where are you going?" she asks while I slip out of the bed, keeping one hand around the towel.

"Patience," I call back to her, moving quickly down the hallway, smirking the whole way like an idiot; an idiot who is falling really fast and really hard. My dick nods in agreement from under the towel. _Hard and fast. _I tighten the towel further around my waist, searching frantically through her kitchen for a corkscrew. I finally find it after rifling through half of the cupboards, and I quickly uncork the bottle, grabbing a glass from the counter and practically flying back to the room.

She's lying down; the sheet pulled up to her chin, her hair splayed behind her on the pillow, looking worried, anxious, and incredibly tempting. She eyes me curiously while I stalk to her, waving the bottle at her. "We can't let good ice wine go to waste, Bella. That would just be tragic."

She giggles and pushes herself up so her back is flush against the headboard. "We're going to have ice wine, now?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow to me and securing the sheet tighter around her.

"Yes. Yes we are." I set the wine glass on the bedside table and pour a generous amount in.

"Aren't you supposed to have ice wine with dessert?" she asks, wetting her bottom lip while she watches me set the bottle on the night stand.

"Yes," I say quietly.

"What's for dessert?" she asks, her eyes wide with anticipation.

I sit down beside her on the bed, placing my hands on either side of her. I lean forward and still my lips over hers. "You," I murmur. I feel her smile against my lips before I kiss her softly. Her lips move with mine, silently asking for more. Her hands wrap around my neck and travel into my hair, coaxing me gently forward. I could get lost in her. She's warm, inviting, vulnerable, tempting, brave…my heart constricts at what this means. That she's letting me get this close is nothing short of monumental.

I break the kiss, leaving her panting slightly, and reach for the glass of wine. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and looks up at me, her soulful eyes searching mine. "This is Summerhill Zweigelt ice wine," I say, twirling the glass between my fingers.

She gulps loudly. "Am I supposed to know what that means?" she asks sarcastically, a beautiful rose blush rising in her cheeks.

"Oh, you'll know by the end of the night what that means, Bella," I say darkly. She shakes her head at me and tries to grab the glass from my hand. I whisk it away from her. "You can't just down it back like it's a shooter. Ice wine is made to be savoured and enjoyed."

She rolls her eyes at me and leans back against the headboard, crossing her arms in front of her. "So, enlighten me," she mocks.

"This particular one is made from Austrian red grapes that are picked at the absolute coldest time…" I lean in and skim my nose along her collarbone, "on a very cold winter's night…" I nip under her ear, brushing her hair behind her shoulder, "when the grapes are frozen," I whisper, planting kisses down the column of her neck. She moans under my touch, her eyes closing and her head lolling back.

I pull back from her and her eyes flash open, her breathing becoming shallow. I dip my index finger into the glass and trace the outline of her plump, delicious lips. She parts them slightly and then sucks my finger into her mouth. "Each grape creates just one or two drops of rich, smooth ice wine," I say slowly while I feel her dart her tongue around my finger before she lets it go with a pop.

"Sounds like it takes a whole lot of grapes to make a bottle. Must be time consuming," she says dryly.

I chuckle and dip my finger into the wine again, tracing her lips once more. "Tell me what you taste," I mutter, setting the glass back on the night stand. I loosen the death grip she has on the sheet and move it down to rest in her lap.

She swirls her tongue around my finger, and I shift, trying to quiet the beast that's threatening my resolve. I pull my finger from her lips, my chest rising and falling quickly while I wait. "It's almost syrupy," she says reflectively. "I think I taste cranberry, maybe?"

"Mmmm. Very good, Bella. Do you taste cinnamon?" I ask, retrieving the glass once again and lifting it to her lips. She tilts her head back and I angle the glass, allowing her only a small taste before I pull it back from her.

She shuts her eyes and swallows. "A bit," she breathes, her eyes still shut.

"It's a tempting, sophisticated wine," I say, capturing her lips and slowly moving my tongue with hers. Holy fuck. She tastes incredible. I press my torso against her, feeling her perfect breasts against my exposed skin. This won't do. The shirt has to come off. Right…the fuck…now.

I pull back and offer her another sip, allowing her to have a bit more than the last time, gently dripping a trail of wine down her neck. I brush my lips down the path, moaning at the flavour as it mixes with the essence that is Bella. It's infinitely better than any wine I've ever tasted.

"Edward," she moans, sending the sound straight to my dick.

"Do you want me to stop?" _Please say no…please say no_. I repeat the mantra in my head.

"No. More," she whispers. I pick up the hem of her t-shirt with my free hand and whip it over her head, reattaching my lips to her neck as soon as the offending material has been tossed to the floor. I stop and sit back to take her in, wishing I could paint her right now. She's beyond beautiful; her jaw slack, her upper body glowing with the faintest rose hue, her perfect breasts rising and falling under a simple cotton ivory lace bra. I am in awe of her.

I offer her another taste, allowing the remaining wine to run between the valley of her breasts. I dip to her navel and lick the trail back up, stopping at her bra. I silently thank whoever invented front clasps…that person was a genius and should be given some sort of award. I twist the centre of the bra and it comes apart, slowly cresting over her breasts to reveal her perfect nipples. Every muscle in my body coils, my dick pulsating to the point that it's almost painful.

I set the glass back down and pick up the bottle of wine, keeping my eyes locked to hers while I pour out a steady dribble onto her right breast. She leans back and watches me slowly take her breast into my mouth. I feel her arch towards me and I swirl my tongue around her nipple, making sure I don't miss a single drop. "Wouldn't want it to go to waste now, would we?" I murmur, pouring more onto her breast and watching the wine rise and then dip down her taunt stomach and over her hip. I lick and nip at the trail, circling my tongue over her hip and tugging the skin between my teeth. I linger longer than I should, leaving her with a subtle mark. Yeah, I probably shouldn't have done that, but judging from the throaty growl coming from her, she seem doesn't mind.

I move to her stomach, taking my time tasting her, eagerly bringing my mouth to her left breast. She writhes under me as I concentrate on sucking her nipple into my mouth. It pebbles under me and she groans loudly. "Edward, please…"

Her breathy demands spur me on and I blow lightly on her nipple, teasing her with my tongue. She gasps while I bite down gently and lift the bottle, drizzling more wine over her breast and into my mouth. She moans loudly, a hypnotic sugary aroma filling the air while I worship her. She's breathtakingly beautiful and I'm blissfully aware that we are in unchartered territory. "Edward…" she whines, shifting underneath me.

"Patience, Bella," I growl, moving back to her lips and thrusting my tongue in, unable to control my want for her. I manage to get the bottle of ice wine back onto the night stand without spilling it all over the floor, and then move to hover over her, careful to keep my weight shifted away from her thigh.

"You taste so incredible," I murmur, resting my forehead on hers while I try to regain some sort of control. I can feel myself slipping. I could easily hurt her right now with the intensity of what I'm feeling…pure lust rolling off both of us, fuelling my ever growing need for her.

"Can I taste you now?" she asks, innocently, running her hands down my back, her warmth and desire overtaking me. Yeah…there goes the control. I gently roll away from her onto my back, trying desperately to hang on before I explode like some pathetic teenager.

I turn my head to watch her slip her bra from her arms, letting it fall to the floor. She glances at me over her creamy white shoulder shyly, which is kind of ironic, given what I hope to God she's about to do, and pours more wine into the glass, her hand shaking.

I lean up and wrap my arm around her waist, pushing my nose into her hair. "Bella, you don't have to do this. Tonight is supposed to be about you," I murmur.

She leans back, turning her head towards me. "Good, because right now, I want to do this. I want to taste you, Edward," she says, pushing against my chest. I lie back down on the bed…who am I to refuse her anything?

She lifts the glass to her lips and then leans in to kiss me. Her lips tingle from the wine and I eagerly taste them. I could simply kiss her forever and be happy. "What do you taste?" she asks, raising her eyebrows to me.

"You," I answer, leaning up in the hopes to kiss her again, but she has other plans, which is just fine with me. She pushes me back down, narrows her eyes at me, and very slowly, tips the glass, spilling a narrow stream onto my chest.

I take an audible gasp in and she pushes herself down on the bed, running her fingers across the wine that drips off the planes of my chest. She leisurely sucks and licks each finger, and then, lowers her mouth to my chest, her thick hair tickling me while she kisses lower…lower…fucking hell. She flattens her tongue around my navel…soft, wet, panting.

She stops, and I lean up, looking for a sign that she's reached her limit. Instead, I see her dart her pink tongue across her bottom lip and trace the top of the towel with her delicate fingers. She locks her eyes to mine and very deliberately tips the glass, pouring it along the towel. The pressure builds. I'm harder than I've ever been in my entire life.

She dips her head and glides her tongue across my abs…fuck…Picasso…Dali…Pollock...soft, warm, touching me. I'm on fire. She stops where the towel is tucked in and tugs on it gently. I've stopped breathing altogether while I try to remember more artists to distract me. I watch her eyes grow wide as she slowly unwraps the towel. And now, I'm the one who is vulnerable…naked beside her, my heart racing, my dick straining. I am hers.

I clench my eyes shut, the visual almost too much for me to handle. Almost. Bella topless, her translucent skin glowing, her eyes wide with expectancy, like she can't decide where to go next. I contemplate offering a suggestion, but she shifts back up slightly, takes another sip of wine, and then tilts the glass between her breasts. I growl…I'm sure I growl. I can't remember anything as erotic as this. She runs the fingers of her free hand through the liquid as it drips off of her and onto me. Very slowly, she leans over me and traces her fingers over my lips. "Want a taste?" she whispers.

Speech eludes me. If there is such a thing as a person actually dying from spontaneous combustion, I'm absolutely positive it's about it happen. I can only open my mouth greedily while she gently pushes her fingers in. She shuts her eyes and takes another sip of the wine while I suck on her fingers, moaning in protest when she removes them from my mouth.

Her eyes flicker to mine while she descends further on the bed. She swallows the wine, immediately taking me into her mouth as far as she can. Wet…hard meeting soft…sensation…only sensation. I'm panting, trying desperately to prevent my hips from thrusting into her mouth. Kandinsky…Matisse…Bella. She circles her tongue, her pace slow and torturous. She stops only to pour the last of the wine down my length, the glass ending up on the floor as she licks down, hollowing her cheeks around me while I moan and murmur. Too fast…too soon…not enough…so good.

I ball the sheets underneath me in my hands, the tide rising…Cezanne…fuck. She moves down, sucking on the sensitive skin on my inner thigh while she slides her little hand slowly up and down my length, gradually increasing the pressure. It's too much. I feel myself losing control, the intensity simply overwhelms me. "Bella, I'm gonna…God," I groan. My entire body shakes, emotion lifting us both as she circles my tip with her tongue until I can't take any more, exploding while she moans, the vibration consuming me, sending me hurtling, falling blissfully into pure, sweet release.

Unbelievably, she takes it all and is as breathless as I am, pushing herself up to lie beside me, her hand resting over my racing heart. "I'm sorry. It's been a while," she says quietly.

"Are you out of your mind? That was…I just…I can't even…no words," I stammer like an idiot.

She laughs and places her head on my chest. "At least I know I can render you speechless if I need to. That may come in handy."

"You can do that any fucking time you want," I growl, tightening my grip around her little waist. "Are you ok? Is your…"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she whispers. "That wasn't perfect, I know." She sounds dejected. "But we can try again."

"Hey." I tilt her chin up to me. "You're perfect, Bella. Don't ever doubt that." I kiss her forehead and she sighs.

"How do you like the slow journey so far?" she asks shyly, tracing her fingers down my arm.

"Do you really have to ask?"

She snickers and drapes her arm over my chest. "Thank you, Edward," she whispers, and in this moment, my world is changed irrevocably. We've crossed the chasm to a journey full of passion, desire, amazement, fear and hope.

Her breathing deepens, her body molding to mine as she drifts off. I pull my fingers through her hair, closing my eyes and falling peacefully into sleep for the first time in months.

I wake in the morning, disoriented in an empty bed. It's been a long time since I woke up in someone else's bed and not felt the overwhelming urge to flee immediately. The scent from the ice wine lingers and I can't help but smile. The wine bottle on the bedside table has been replaced with a small yellow piece of paper.

_Edward,_

_I've gone for a run with Jake._

_Will be back by 7:30._

_Hope you slept well. _

_X_

_-Bella_

_PS – You snore. Help yourself to breakfast._

I don't know whether to be pissed off at her for leaving me to go run with muscle-man, or overjoyed that she's telling me to stay for breakfast. I choose the latter, not wanting to dwell on the fact that, right now, she's breathing heavy, probably in some fuck hot running outfit while he watches her perfect ass.

I whip the covers off and find the clothes she borrowed from me in a heap on the floor. They smell like her and I eagerly put them on, the unique scent that is Bella, washing over me. After using the bathroom, I wander out to the kitchen and see that she's put out fruit and bagels on the counter and the coffee is ready. I could get used to this…very, very quickly.

I keep one eye on the clock while I enjoy some real coffee, and wait.

7:28…My eyes are fixated on the door, my ears straining for any sound that would alert me to her coming home.

7:35…I am on my second cup of coffee. I'm not good at waiting. I don't like the feeling. I don't like knowing she's with him right now. That they are probably having some sort of intimate conversation that I know nothing about. I want to have those conversations. I want her to tell me everything.

7:45…I am wearing a hole in the area rug in front of the window while I pace nervously. The minute hand on this clock is louder than a fucking jet engine right now. Where is she? If I knew where she ran with the Steroid King, I could go and find her. Fuck, what if something happened? What if she's hurt? My heart races, my hands raking through my hair in sheer frustration.

7:50…I feel like I'm going to throw up. Something has to be wrong. I move to the kitchen to put the cup in the sink and hear a key slide into the lock at the front door. I race to it, whipping it open while she stares back at me wide eyed. Her hair is pulled back into a high pony tail, a few wisps escaping and framing her face. She has a tight black tank top on and yoga pants, her cheeks are flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering her face.

"Jesus Christ, Bella. I've been worried sick about you." I sound like I'm scolding her and I'm sure that's not going to go over well.

"I was almost out of milk and I don't know how you take your coffee," she says innocently.

"Come here," I murmur, my heart still racing as I pull her to me, practically crushing her into my chest. "I didn't know where you were."

She chuckles and pulls back from me. "I'm ok, Edward. Relax."

"We're rectifying this situation right now," I say authoritatively, moving to the bathroom and fishing out my cell phone from my jeans. I march back to the kitchen where she's standing at the open fridge door, taking a swig from a bottle of water. "What's your number?"

She shuts the fridge door and leans on the counter, an amused look on her face while she gives me her cell number. "Guess I probably shouldn't tell you what happened the other night if you're going to get like this," she says, her face falling immediately.

What the fuck? "What about the other night?" I ask warily.

"Something happened after I left your place, but it's nothing, so the police said," she says dismissively.

"The police?" Panic ignites and I cross the kitchen to her, cradling her face between my hands. "What happened?"

"A car tried to run me off the road. I'm sure it was kids or something. It's not a big deal, Edward. They said there have been reports of street games lately," she says, trying to look nonchalant, but failing miserably. She's clearly upset about this.

"What are you talking about, Bella? What car?" I try to digest what she's saying, but all that really registers is blue car, red framed license plate. "Jesus Christ, Bella. Why didn't you tell me? Have the police found this fucker? I don't want you going anywhere by yourself, do you hear me?" I ramble, overcome at the thought of something happening to her.

"Edward, don't be ridiculous. It was a prank or something, and I'm fine. I'm not a child, and I'm not about to be treated like one," she says, backing away from me and furrowing her brow.

"I'm sorry. It's just the thought of something happening to you is just…" I shut my eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of control. I need to paint, but I need her more.

I feel her warm hand cup my cheek and I lean into it, the calm washing over me. "I'm fine, Edward," she whispers. I let out a sigh and open my eyes to her. She looks amused by my reaction, shaking her head and smirking at me. "You're over reacting."

"You must know by now how important you are to me. Have I not made that crystal clear?" I ask, pushing her gently toward the counter.

She laughs, melodic and sweet. "Maybe I need a reminder," she teases.

I push the car incident to the back of my mind and focus on the fact that she's here...keyed up from a run and looking extremely tempting. "Mmmm," I mutter, brushing my lips across her exposed collarbone. "How was your run?"

"Good," she breathes, placing her hands on the counter behind her and arching towards me.

"How is physio-boy?" I growl, slipping my fingers under the shoulder of her tank top and pushing it down her arm slightly.

She stiffens and leans back. "I thought you weren't jealous," she says.

"I'm not, because, once again, you're here…sweaty and deliciously tempting…with me," I murmur, pressing my lips to hers. She moans and plunges her hands into my hair, pulling and twisting, the sensation landing firmly in my dick.

She leans back, keeping her hands in my hair and rests her forehead on mine. "I have to get ready for work," she mutters.

"Work?"

"Yeah, you know. Work. What the rest of us non-creative people have to do to make a living?"

"Do you have to?" I whine. Fuck, I'm pathetic.

"Yeah. I have to. We've only got three weeks until the auction, and Rose and I still have a ton of stuff to do. I really need to get going and take a shower."

I lift my eyebrows to her. "Do you, now?" I ask, smirking at what I'm about to do.

"Edward," she warns.

"Bella..." I wrap my arm firmly around her waist.

"You can't, Edward," she says firmly, narrowing her eyes at me.

"Oh, but I can." I bend down and lift her easily up and over my shoulder while she squeals and hits my ass, which only serves to spur me on.

"Edward! Seriously!" she yells forcefully as I make my way down the hall and to the bathroom. Bella in the shower. It doesn't get any better than this. My brain has officially left the building. I set her down gently on the side of the tub and turn on the shower, the adrenaline pumping through me, pooling in my dick. She gets up and tries to escape.

"You need to shower, right?" I ask.

"You can't just put me in the shower, Edward. Not like this," she yells.

"Wanna bet?" I pull her towards me and she stiffens under my touch, while I inch her towards the shower and fiddle with the draw string on her yoga pants.

"Edward! For fuck's sake!" I stop and release my grip on her, panic overtaking desire. What the fuck have I done?

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to..."

"I know what you were trying to do. And if I was anyone else, it would be perfect. But I'm not just anyone else," she says. "I told you I can't be spontaneous. This..." She waves her hand at the shower. "...I can't just jump in there, Edward. I have to..." Her voice trails and she shuts her eyes.

Oh shit. This is bad. Whatever it is. Did something happen to her in a shower once? She can't possibly be worried about being naked with me, not after last night. Bella...naked. _Focus, Cullen!_ "What is it? Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, Bella. Just talk to me."

She opens her eyes and stares at me, disappointment washing over her while the room fills with steam from the shower. "I have to put on a swim leg to take a shower, Edward. I can't just jump in there with you, no matter how much I want to," she says quietly. "This is what I was trying to tell you the other night. I can never do anything spur of the moment like this." The tears well up in her eyes. I feel horrible. Why the hell didn't I think of that? Right...naked Bella...in the hot shower distracting me.

"But last night, in the rain..."

"Yeah, that was _rain_, Edward. With me in a pair of jeans, for all of five minutes. I can't take my clothes off and get into a shower with this leg."

"I'm sorry, Bella." I reach for her arm and she jerks it away from me.

"Stop apologizing. This is me. All me. You should _want_ to jump into the shower with someone. You should be able to do things on the spur of the moment," she cries, the tears spilling over.

"Don't cry, ok? Where's your swim leg?" I ask, brushing her tears away with my fingers.

"What?" she asks, sniffling and looking at me in disbelief.

"You heard me. I want to see it."

"Why?"

"Because it's part of who you are and I want to know everything about you. Well, that, and I really, really want to take a shower with you," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

"You do?"

I nod my head and reach for her waist, gently pulling her to me. "If you want to. It can be part of our journey," I say suggestively.

"You should want to be with someone who can do this kind of stuff...who can be spontaneous," she protests.

"Bella, I want to be with you. And we can make our own version of spontaneous."

"I don't deserve you," she says, lowering her head.

I cup her chin and tilt it up to me. "You deserve to be worshipped, and I intend to worship you...all of you. Where is your swim leg?" I ask softly, praying that I haven't completely ruined everything.

She cups my face between her hands and stares back at me, her eyes burning, wanting, hopeful. "I'll go get it."

Chapter End Notes

Well, well, well. Seems that ice wine came in handy.

Let me know what you're thinking.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Twitter: CarLemon


	25. Chapter 25

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. August 2010.

**A million thanks to my wonderful beta xrxdanixrx, who provides the banner, and writes four amazing stories: Don't Try to Save Me, At Your Own Risk, Hate Me, and Here We Go Again. She's amazing!**

**Many thanks to Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. **

**A very special thank you to MizzezPattinson, who goes above and beyond on a daily basis. She is truly a wonderful friend and I thank her from the bottom of my heart for everything she does – including pre-reading this chapter for me and providing the new blinkie. Much love, hun! XO**

**Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean everything. **

**So, you liked the ice wine, did you? Yes-it does exist and I would urge you to treat yourself and try some.**

**On with the rest of the morning. Come, join me.**

BPOV

Ch 25

I leave him in the bathroom with the steam rising. I can't believe he wants to see this. I am fully aware of just how much I've underestimated Edward. Last night was beyond incredible, and while I seriously hoped that Edward would accept and understand this, part of me truly thought when it came right down to it, he would bolt. I feel horrible for doubting him, even though every single experience I've had to date with men pushed me to that conclusion. And yet, here I am, standing in front of the closet, about to show him my swim leg. It's unfathomable that we've come this far in such a short period of time.

My hands shake while I pick it up, and take it back to the bathroom. He's standing at the vanity, the shower now off, the steam thicker in the room. He breaks into the seductive smile that he knows affects every woman within a five mile radius, and takes a step towards me.

"Explain this to me. I want to try to understand," he says sincerely.

I hesitate for a moment, completely overwhelmed by him. Edward Cullen could have anyone he wants, and yet, he's standing in my bathroom, looking eager and hot as hell, waiting for me to share one of the most personal pieces of my life. I'm not really even sure where to start, but I know I want to. I've never wanted anything as much as I want for him to understand this. "Not everyone has a swim leg. Some people I know have a shower stool, or they hop on one foot in the shower, which obviously can be dangerous. Actually, taking a shower is probably one of the most dangerous things you can do as a leg amputee. It's slippery at the best of times, and I know a lot of people who have had some pretty nasty falls," I explain while he stares back at me, his expression unreadable as he takes in my words. "Also, shower floors aren't usually even, and the stool can be unstable. It's hard to reach shampoo and soap when you're sitting down and you didn't put them right in front of you before you got in." I shake my head and stare at the floor, afraid to see his reaction. He cups my chin and tilts it up, nodding his head in encouragement.

"I had Emmett install a couple of bars in the shower after the accident, but even with those, I still fell quite a bit. It's surprisingly hard to wash your hair when you're hanging onto a bar at the same time. So I opted for the swim leg." I hand it to him and he gently takes it from me, examining it closely, furrowing his brow. "This way, if I ever travel anywhere, or go swimming, I feel more…normal, if that makes sense."

He turns it over softly in his hands. "It's completely different than your usual one," he marvels, running his fingers reverently across it.

"It's waterproof and made from materials that won't corrode. There are anti slip treads on the bottom of the foot," I explain, turning it upside down to show him and waiting nervously for his reaction.

"So, this is what you would take to the beach?" he asks, locking his eyes with mine.

"Yeah. If I ever went."

"You don't go to the beach?" he asks, looking concerned.

"Not very often," I admit.

"Because of this?"

"No. Because it usually ends up with Rose and Emmett dry humping next to the sandcastle he's made for her, and there's only so much of that I can stomach."

He snickers and nods his head. "Right." I move to sit on the edge of the tub, and he places the swim leg gently on the mat. "Let me do it? Please?" he asks quietly.

I nod my head and he runs his fingers along the waistband of my yoga pants, gently tugging them down and leaving them on the floor. It's hard to get used to someone touching me like this…when I'm completely vulnerable, but each time we do it, it gets a little easier. My muscles tense while he flattens his hands down my thigh to the top of the prosthetic, gently twisting and releasing it, looking at me questioningly. "I'm just going to put it on again, so I don't have to do the whole cleaning regime. I can just wipe it down," I explain.

"I'll do it." He moves to the vanity and pulls out a fresh cloth, running it gently over the prosthetic. "What about baths?" he asks suddenly.

Baths…hmmm. Edward in the bath tub. My mind reels at that visual and he lifts his head to me, looking at me questioningly. I feel the heat rise in my face and look away from him. "Baths are ok. I don't wear a prosthetic in the bath. But it's tricky getting in and out. You can easily fall, and I have before," I ramble.

"Hmm...so, if we wanted to be...spontaneous at say, my place, and you didn't have the swim leg, we could take a bath?" he asks, arching an eyebrow to me.

I smirk and nod my head at him. "Yeah, we could take a bath. I just need to be really careful to not slip," I answer, trying to hide my amusement.

"Then we'll be careful," he says, placing the prosthetic on the rack. He moves back to me and watches in fascination while I slide the swim leg on. He smiles widely. "So, I should have the swim leg in here when the mood strikes to take you in the shower."

"Is that what you're planning on doing? _Taking_ me in shower?" I ask, cocking my head to the side at him.

A look of panic takes over his face. "Shit! No. I mean yes...God, yes. But I know we're not there yet, and that's ok." He holds out his hand to me and pulls me up from the side of the tub. "You are an amazing woman, Bella Swan."

"Edward, we don't have to do this right now. I know this is a lot to digest and that you may not be entirely-" My concern is silenced as he crushes his lips to mine, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest.

His hand travels down to my ass and he squeezes gently. "Take a shower with me. Please?" he asks, stilling his lips over mine.

My mouth goes dry and I just nod my head in agreement. He smirks at me and opens the door to the shower, turning it on and adjusting the temperature. He grabs the hem of his t-shirt and whisks it over his head, exposing his toned chest to me. I gawk openly at him...there's no way I can't. The man is pure perfection and I suddenly feel very, very inadequate as I stand in just my tank top and panties in front of him.

"Bella? Are you sure?" he asks, closing the distance between us.

I somehow find the ability to speak. "I want to, it's just. You're…"

"I'm nothing," he says, cupping my face between his hands. "I'm just a guy who wants to take a shower…with you." He traces the shoulder of my tank top with his fingers and lifts his eyebrows to me, silently asking permission.

I lift it up and over my head, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of our clothes. He removes his running pants and stands before me, completely naked…gloriously naked, while I fumble to remove my panties. 'You are beautiful, Bella," he says hoarsely. Before I can protest, he wraps his arms around my waist, and kisses me, lifting me straight up and into the shower, shutting the door behind him.

I can't control the fit of laughter as the water sprays down between us and he sets me down gently. "You're laugh is intoxicating," he says, brushing the wet hair from my face, his expression now serious. He trails his fingers down my jaw, ghosting them over the column of my neck, along my collarbone and between my breasts. He slowly traces the outline of one, and then the other breast, causing my nipples to get instantly harder while the moisture pools between my thighs. Ever fibre in my body tingles, and he's only touched me for a few seconds.

He stops and shuts his eyes, his fingers tracing my navel, his breath coming in gasps. "Tell me what you want me to do," he breathes, his voice shaky.

He opens his eyes to me, his hair fantastically wet and dripping down over his face. I reach for the soap on the ledge beside us and hold it in my palm in front of me. "Normally, you use soap in the shower," I tease.

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing quickly, and he chuckles. "Soap…right," he says, taking the bar from me and pressing his torso forward. My eyes grow wide as I feel his erection against me. He slowly runs the soap down one arm, up my side and then down the other arm. He bends his neck and takes my nipple into his mouth, moaning while he circles the soap across my stomach. My head lolls back and I lean against the tile while he begins his wondrous exploration.

He glides the soap up and over each breast, his eyes locked to mine. Leaning forward, he brushes his lips over mine softly, and then more forcefully, his tongue sliding and tasting, his free hand wrapping around my waist. My fingers work into his wet hair, urging him closer. He moves the soap down to my hip, circling slowly, deepening the kiss in the process while he inches slowly down my inner thigh.

I feel my muscles clench while he moves the soap up, grazing outside my folds deliberately in the process. I gasp and he stops, pulling back and looking at me cautiously. "Do you want me stop?"

I shake my head and he smiles devilishly before sinking down in front of me. "Edward, wha…" He skims the soap up my leg, gently rubbing the calf and working his way between my thighs. I shut my eyes, savouring every touch, every emotion it's bringing out in me, until I hear the unmistakable sound of the soap hitting the floor.

I look down and see his fingers lathered with soap. He looks up at me and then slowly traces his fingers across my pubic bone and finally dips them between my folds. The feeling is overpowering; his pace gentle and slow, causing me to jerk my hips forward with unbridled want. "Edward, don't tease me," I mutter, which only serves to slow his pace, his fingers curling while he moves them slowly in and out, a sensual, torturous rhythm.

I reach for the shower bar, glad for the first time in my life that it's here. He reaches up and removes my hand from the bar, resting it in his hair. "Here," he growls, flattening his tongue over my hip, his breath hot against my skin. My heart hammers against my chest, his fingers twisting and stretching, his tongue tentatively moving lower.

He trails slowly down, his tongue replacing his fingers, and I know I'm seconds away from loosing complete control. He grabs my ass and moans, his tongue circling my clit, my fingers twisting in his hair, pressing him closer. My entire body is on fire, it's never been this intense. I'm practically panting, the water starting to cool while it falls around us. "Fuck, Bella," he growls. "Do you like that?"

Oh my God! Don't break out the dirty talk. I let out something between a moan and a cry, followed by his name, while I grip his hair harder. I don't want him to stop, but unbelievably he does. He rises up, his fingers replacing his tongue. "I asked if you liked that," he mutters, stilling his fingers inside of me. "Do you like feeling me inside of you?"

"Hmmm, yes," I growl, his fingers starting to move faster and deeper this time, my hips arching towards him as the pressure builds. "Edward…" He brings his lips to mine as the warmth engulfs me, my entire body pulsating and clenching with the intensity of the greatest orgasm I think I've ever had. I collapse my weight onto him, unable to stand straight, my leg shaking, his arms wrapping around my waist to hold me up.

I rest my cheek onto his chest, my breathing completely out of control. He kisses and then bites my shoulder, removing one hand from my waist and pumping himself only three times before he releases violently, his head thrown back, his breathing ragged. "For the love of fucking God, Bella," he breathes, resting his forehead on mine.

"No good?" I ask warily, my body sinking back against the wet tile.

"So good. So fucking good," he murmurs, running both of his hands down my breasts and stilling them on my waist. "Are you alright?"

"I'd say I'm better than alright, Edward," I answer, laughing at him while I start to shiver.

He nips my neck, brushing my hair from my face, and then urgently kisses me. "You taste incredible, Bella. Can we do this again?" he asks innocently.

I cup his face and nod my head at him. "Yeah. We can do this again." My laughter fills the confines of the shower.

He sighs and leans back, looking down at the swim leg. "It's ok?" he asks nervously.

"Yeah, its fine. I'm starting to get cold, though," I answer.

"Shit. I'm sorry. Here." He hands me the shampoo bottle and I quickly lather up a dollop, washing my hair and rinsing it out while he picks up the soap and runs it along my breasts and my stomach, watching in fascination as the bubbles run off me.

"Just making sure you're clean," he says sarcastically.

I take the soap from him and run it along his length while his eyes grow wide. "I think we're clean," I whisper, reaching behind me and turning the water off.

He narrows his eyes at me and then opens the shower door, grabbing a towel from the rack and moving back to me. He slowly wraps it around me and presses his lips to mine while he lifts me out of the shower and carries me to the bedroom.

He sets me on the edge of the bed, never breaking the kiss, and starts to move over me, coaxing me back. I flatten my hands against his chest and push him back slightly. "I have to get ready for work, Edward." He lets out a heavy breath and pulls away reluctantly. "I want to. I do. I just don't want to rush this, ok? I mean, the shower, last night…it's all pretty massive for me. And when we do this, I don't want to be worried about having to be somewhere else. I'm sorry," I say quietly.

"Fuck, don't be sorry, Bella. I'm the one who's sorry. You know what you do to me. I have a permanent walking hard on around you. I didn't mean to push you."

I sit up and laugh at his openness. "You're not pushing me, ok? Trust me. I'll never do anything I don't want to. You should know that about me by now."

He chuckles and runs his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, you're right about that," he admits.

I push up off the bed, holding the towel closed at my chest, and he sits down, leaning back on his elbows and watches while I pick out clothes from the closet. _Focus, Bella! _ "What are you going to do today?" I ask, moving back to the bathroom.

"Paint. I'm feeling extremely inspired," he calls to me. I smile, set the clothes on the floor, and sit on the edge of the tub. I remove the swim leg, drying it and my limb thoroughly with the towel. I stand and hop to get my prosthetic, but he's beat me to it and is standing at the drying rack, naked with the prosthetic in his hands.

He brings it to me and narrows his eyes. 'You shouldn't have to hop to get this," he says quietly.

"It's not like I haven't done it before, Edward. It's part of my life."

"You didn't have me before," he says firmly.

I steady myself on the vanity and try to explain this to him. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. I really do. But I can handle myself. The last thing I want is for you to feel sorry for me or try to do things for me because you think I can't, or that it's too hard. I don't want pity. Do you know how long I've waited to share this with someone? How long I've waited for you?"

He lets out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to…"

"Please, don't treat me differently because of this. Please, Edward. I'm just Bella, ok?" He nods his head and hands the prosthetic to me. I take it from him and hop back to the edge of the tub. "You need to put some clothes on," I suggest, trying not to look at his massive erection.

He snickers at me. "I'm going to be taking another shower, so what's the point?" he asks, leaning back against the vanity.

"Another shower?" I question, sitting down to put the prosthetic on and trying to not think about the fact that he's naked…in my bathroom. Oh, the possibilities. _Remember to focus, Bella!_

"Hmmm. I need another shower…for many reasons," he says, his eyes darkening while they linger on the towel that's starting to open around my chest.

I shake my head at him and retreat back to the bedroom. I hear the shower turn on a few moments later while I finish dressing. I squeeze the dampness out of my hair and blow it dry quickly, trying to think about budgets and planning for the auction to distract me from the fact that he's back in the shower, magnificently naked. _Count to ten…count to ten. Soon, Bella._

The shower is still on, the steam in the bathroom heavy when I poke my head in. "I'll leave a key by the front door for you," I say, seeing the outline of his body behind the misted shower door.

"Oh, wait," he says urgently. He turns the shower off and opens the door.

"Can I see you tonight? We could go out for dinner…that is, if you trust my choice in restaurants," he says casually, reaching for a towel and starting to dry himself off.

"I'm supposed to have dinner at my mom's tonight," I say, watching as he runs the towel through his hair and then wraps it around his waist. _You have to go to work…you have to go to work._

"Oh," he says almost sadly.

"Would you like to come?" I offer.

"Well, when you put it that way…"

I roll my eyes at him and shake my head. "Pick me up around 6:30."

"Yes, ma'am," he murmurs, smirking at me.

"Oh and, Edward? Try not to be late this time," I say, returning the smirk and making my way out the door, feeling better than I have in a very, very long time.

I'm only about ten minutes late after navigating the morning line from hell to get Rose and me a latte. I'm greeted in reception by Lauren, who is more chipper than normal, and wearing a tight blue dress that dips to reveal most of her cleavage. "How was your weekend, Bella?" she practically sings to me.

"It was good. Yours, Lauren?" I ask, trying to at least sound cordial.

"It was great. I called Edward last night to ask him to the auction. Can you believe it? I left a message on his voice mail. Do you think he'll call me back?" she asks, her eyes wide with anticipation.

"I wouldn't hold my breath, Lauren," I say, smirking and brushing past her desk and into Rose's office while she gapes at me.

"How was the rest of _your _night?" Rose asks, looking up from behind her computer.

I set her latte in front of her. "It was good," I say coyly, slumping into the chair.

"Just good?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

"Really good," I say, trying to hide my smile behind the cup.

"And that means…"

"He stayed," I say, casually taking a sip.

"Oh. My. God! He stayed!" she screams.

"Shhh! Keep your voice down! Yeah, he stayed."

"And?" she presses, her eyes wide with anticipation.

"And he's…"

"He's what? Got stamina? Brought you to orgasm multiple times? What?"

"Rose! I'm so not having this conversation with you!"

"Well, whatever happened last night, you look happy, and that's all that really matters to me. Oh, wait. Do I need to get you more condoms?" she asks, her voice now serious.

"I'm leaving now," I grumble, getting up and making my way to the door while she laughs at my embarrassment.

"Remember, we need to go to James' studio later today. Let me know if your schedule is clear after lunch, ok?" she asks.

That question makes me stop dead in my tracks and turn back to her. "Do we really need to do that?"

"Of course we do. He offered to donate something, and we told him we'd come take a look today," she says.

"OK, but we are in and out of there fast, alright?"

"What's gotten into you?" she asks.

"Just something Edward said about him. I don't think they exactly see eye to eye."

"Hmm. Sounds like someone is jealous," she teases, arching her eyebrow to me.

"Let's just say he wasn't exactly impressed about James being involved in the auction. Thanks for that, by the way."

"Hey, I'm just trying to make sure we raise as much money as we can," she reminds me.

"I know that, but we haven't even seen his work."

"I'm sure its fine," she says dismissively.

"Alright. I'll check my calendar and let you know what works."

She nods her head and busies herself behind her computer while I make my way to my office and get settled for another morning buried in spreadsheets.

It's almost two o'clock when we park outside of James' art supply store. We're greeted by a mutter from a bored teenager who looks like he wants to be anywhere but working behind the cash register. Rose quirks an eyebrow to me as he completely ignores us while we stand at the counter. "Is James here?" I ask.

He raises his head to me and his eyes grow wide. "You're the chick in the painting. That's hot, man," he says, raking his eyes up and down me and running his tongue along the piercing in his lip.

I feel a shiver go down my spine and my mouth goes dry. "What painting?" I ask warily.

"The one he's been working on for like the last two days straight." Rose looks at me questioningly. "He's back there." The kid nods his head towards the back of the store. I follow Rose as we make our way through the aisles of painting supplies, the sound of rap music getting louder while we near the far corner of the store.

"What's he talking about?" Rose asks over her shoulder. "When did you pose for a painting?"

"I didn't."

She stops abruptly and flicks the beads that are hanging down from the top of the open doorway. "You're kidding me, right?" she mocks, rolling her eyes at me.

"Rose! Can you at least try to be nice? Remember, this _was_ your idea," I hiss at her. I knock on the door frame loudly. The music stops abruptly and a few moments later, James is pulling back the beads, sweat dripping from his brow, paint splattered all over his black tank top. "Ladies, I was hoping I would see you today," he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You're working. We can come back, later," I say, mindful of the way Edward works and how I know he would hate to be interrupted.

"No, no. Please. Come on in." He holds the beads to the side and I take a tentative step into the room. I'm overcome by the images that reflect back to me in the mass of mirrors he has lining the room. It's hard to focus, especially with the swinging bulb that is hanging down in the center of the room directly over the painting he's clearly been working on.

I shift nervously, painfully aware that he's not taken his eyes off me. "Wow. This is quite a room," Rose says dryly, sauntering to the canvass.

"Thanks," he says, flickering his eyes to her and then focusing back on me. He takes a step towards me and I shift back slightly. "I'm glad you're here. I've been working and…"

"What the fuck is this?" Rose's voice fills the room, silencing James instantly. "This is some serious fucked up shit, James," she seethes, whipping her head around and glaring at him.

James finally breaks his stare from me and focuses on Rose. "It's called art, Rose, and it sells," he practically growls.

"Not in our auction it doesn't," she barks definitively.

"Maybe you should let Bella decide that," he says, cocking his head to the side at her in defiance.

What the hell is she going on about? I brush past James and cross the room to join Rose at the painting. As I make my way to it, I can see that it's a dark and unsettling piece, my eyes falling to the body of a naked woman bound by the wrists and the feet, arching off a small wooden table. What. The. Fuck? There are arms reaching up from the darkened ground below the table, and stretching to her from the trees around her. I take an audible gasp in when I see her face.

It's mine. There's no mistaking it. He's captured it perfectly. It's as if I'm looking at a reflection of myself in the mirror. I don't know if I'm going to throw up or pass out. "What the hell is this? You cannot sell this, James. I didn't even pose for this!" I yell.

"Who says it's you?" he asks calmly, joining us at the painting, a disturbing smile playing on his face.

"It's obviously me! When did you paint this?" I demand, my anger rising as I try to comprehend what he's done and why he's done it.

"I started it yesterday. It's not totally finished yet," he says.

"Oh, I think it's finished, James," Rose snarls.

"Its art…relax. I can see maybe where you'd see some resemblance, but…"

"Some resemblance?" I ask, my voice several octaves above normal.

"I thought you said you did portraits?" Rose asks.

"I do," he says, shrugging his shoulders.

"And this is your idea of a portrait?" Rose presses.

"One of them, yes. Don't put a label on art. What one person sees as beautiful, another sees as offensive. That's what makes it provocative."

"I'm all for provocative. But, I've got to say that I'm _not _ok with my face being part of it for half of Vancouver to see at a charity auction," I say, the words pouring quickly out of my mouth. I cannot believe he's done something like this.

"Maybe at a porn auction," Rose says sarcastically.

"So, it's not the painting you object to, it's the audience that will see it?" he asks.

"We're raising money for charity. This isn't exactly what people are expecting to see," I state.

"And what are they expecting, hmm? Some lame ass trees with swirling colour in the background. Is that what Cullen is painting?" he asks sarcastically.

"Edward doesn't have anything to do with this. This isn't appropriate. Not for this type of event," I bark.

"This is how I paint. I can't change that."

"We can't have something like this in the auction. I hope you can understand that. I mean, you're obviously talented, couldn't you do something a little less…kinky?" Rose asks.

"I don't think this is kinky. It's art. It's all in how you perceive it."

"Yeah? Well, I perceive it as fucked up," Rose says, glaring at him.

"You're certainly entitled to your opinion. I just don't happen to share it," he says, staring intently at the painting.

"Well, the elite of Vancouver who will be at this auction probably do share it. I can't put this in the auction," Rose says.

"Forgive me, but I know the elite of Vancouver, Rose, probably better than you do. You'd be surprised at some of the fucked up shit they're into. This is tame in comparison," James says, narrowing his eyes at her.

Rose's eyes grow wide and I recognize that look. Oh God. Don't ever challenge Rose. Colossal mistake. "What's that supposed to mean?" she challenges.

"It means, don't come off like you know everything. People aren't always what they seem. If you come to my showing, you'll see what I mean," he says.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I feel the overwhelming need to get out of here. "When's your showing?" Rose asks sternly.

"After your auction is long over and forgotten," he taunts.

"Oh, I get it. You're using the auction as a way to get the word out about your collection," Rose says, shaking her head at him.

"Isn't that why Cullen's doing it?" he fires back at her.

"No. Edward's collection doesn't have anything to with his piece for the auction," I say defensively.

"Sounds like you've seen it," James hisses.

Rose whips her head to me and raises an eyebrow. "No. I haven't seen it. He just told me," I say.

"And you believe him?" James laughs darkly at me. "You're not as smart as I thought if you trust anything that comes out of Cullen's mouth."

"And you know him so well?" I ask sharply.

James issues me a devilish smile, knowing he's hit a nerve. "I know more about him than you do," he says darkly.

"I find that hard to believe," I say, the adrenaline pumping through me. I'm very aware that we are on the edge of something that could turn extremely nasty pretty fast. Rose puts her hand on my arm and squeezes reassuringly.

"Look, unless you can paint something other than this," Rose waves her hand at the canvass dismissively. "We're not going to be able to put anything of yours in the auction," she says firmly.

"So that's it? You're just going to shut me out of this?" he asks.

"You know what kind of event this is. The last time I checked, charity doesn't exactly go along with tied up naked women," Rose states.

He clenches his fists and narrows his eyes at Rose. "I'm sorry you feel that way. Cullen may paint for the pair of you, but I paint for me. Nobody else. And I will not apologize for it. Do you have any idea how much one of my paintings could go for?" he asks.

Rose glances at me questioningly. "Do you? Have any of your paintings ever actually sold?" Rose asks.

Oh fuck! Damn Rose and her inability to keep her mouth shut. The words, 'if looks could kill', briefly pass through my mind as they stand in lock down mode, neither one of them wanting to relent.

"Well, seems you have an audience today, James." I turn to see Jane in an expensive looking bright red suit, stalking her way towards us.

James takes a step away from the painting and tears his eyes away from us. "Jane, these are the ladies running the auction. You remember. Rose and…"

"Bella. Yes, I know. I remember. You seem to be everywhere these days," she says, arching an eyebrow to me. "First in the coffee shop, and now…here."

"We came to see James' work for the auction, but unfortunately, it's not exactly…"

"Your cup of tea?" Jane asks, whipping her head in Rose's direction.

"It's not appropriate for this type of event," Rose says.

"I see. And what would you say _is _appropriate? What limits are you prepared to put on creativity?" Jane asks, moving directly in front of Rose.

"We're not putting limits on it. He can paint half of Vancouver naked for all I care, it's just not going in our auction," Rose says. Jane's body stiffens and she issues Rose the death stare. We need to get out of here. Right now.

"You do realize that there is growing interest in his work, don't you?" Jane asks.

"I'm sure there is," Rose answers, not backing down.

"And that could mean good business for your auction. I mean, the goal is to raise as much money as you possibly can, isn't it?" Jane asks, her icy exterior thawing somewhat.

"Not with something like this. I'm sorry, but unless there's something else you can paint, James, I'm afraid we're going to have to go ahead without your donation," Rose says, taking a step back from Jane.

Jane turns her attention to me, her eyes dark and threatening. "Wow. I'm surprised. I would have thought, given how…close you and Edward are, that you'd be all over this particular type of genre," Jane says, turning her attention to the painting in appreciation.

"What does that mean?" I ask, even though I'm not entirely sure I want to know the answer.

She snickers and smirks at me knowingly. "Oh please. You must know that Edward likes this kind of stuff. Bondage…nudity…" I take a breath in, trying to hold it together, determined not to let her see that she's got to me. "Oh, has he not shared that little piece of information about his lifestyle with you yet?" she asks. "Maybe he's just waiting…for the right time. You're not exactly his usual type." She cocks her head to me and narrows her eyes.

I take a step towards Jane, emotion raging. What the fuck is she talking about? "Ok. I think we're done here," Rose snaps, stepping between Jane and me "James, you're really quite talented, but this isn't going to work for our auction." She nudges me towards the door while Jane laughs darkly.

"Yes. Run along, now. Wouldn't want to take up any more of your precious time," Jane sneers. "We can do just fine without your pathetic little auction."

"Just keep walking, Bella," Rose whispers as she coaxes me through the beads and into the store while I fight the urge to turn back and confront her.

"What the fuck was that all about, Rose?" I yell as we make our way through the store, pushing open the door with force into the afternoon Vancouver rain. "What the fuck was that?" I stop at her car, unable to fathom what I've just seen, what I've just heard, what she's just revealed to me about Edward.

"It was nothing, Bella. She's clearly a psycho art dealer from hell," Rose says, pressing the button on the remote to open the car.

"That wasn't nothing. Did you hear her in there? What the fuck was she talking about? Edward and his lifestyle? What the fuck?"

"Bella, don't read anything into what she said. She's just pissed off because she's not going to get any publicity for James out of the auction," she states.

"Why would she say something like that?" I ask, the rain starting to soak us both.

"Because she's crazy. She's bat-shit crazy. Get in the car. I'm freezing," she demands.

I crank the door open and sit down, staring blankly at the store. Rose puts the key in the ignition and starts the car. "Bella, don't go there, hun. Please don't believe a word she said. Talk to him, ok? I'm sure there's a history there and an explanation for why she's a nut case," she says, turning on the windshield wipers and pulling out of the parking lot.

"A history?"

"Obviously there's a history. I mean, I know she represents him, but clearly there's more to it," she says firmly.

I try to tune Rose out as she natters on while we drive back to the office. I'm rattled, to say the least, my heart still racing in my chest. This whole thing is weird; James' studio, the painting, the mirrors, Jane and her malicious attitude. Where did that even come from? I mean, what did I do to deserve being treated like that?

As we pull into the parking garage at the office and Rose turns off the car, a frightening though occurs to me. Suddenly, I don't think that street game the other night was random. And I think it's possible that I might know what kind of car she drives.

Chapter End Notes:

Hmmm…whatcha thinking?

Twitter: CarLemon


	26. Chapter 26

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. August 2010.

**Many thanks to my fantastic beta xrxdanixrx, who provides the banner, and writes four wonderful stories. Much love, hun!**

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**A million thanks will never be enough for MizzezPattinson who graciously agreed to pre-read this chapter for me. XO BB.**

***Blinks innocently.* Please don't hate me. I know this chapter is later than normal in posting. I had a new story which was validating and is now posted. You can check out my new collaboration with MizzezPattinson if you like hot, Mustangward: Of Mustangs & Men over on Twilighted.**

**Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean the world. **

**Let's check in with Edward. I wonder what kind of a day he's having? Let's see. Come, join me.**

EPOV

Chapter 26

I'm leaning against my desk, taking in the half finished piece I started as soon as I got home this morning. This morning…the shower…Bella in the shower…a visual I will not soon forget and I hope to see again…very soon.

This piece is softer, more careful, muted tones with an intensely vivid halo of gold framing the edges. Is it possible, that after all this time, after all the fuck ups, that I've finally found the person to pull me out of the sinking abyss my life has become?

When I think about what this means for her, how she's let me, of all people, into her life...it's nothing short of staggering. I'm well aware that I don't deserve it...I don't deserve her. But I want to.

I also want her to know how much she's changed my life, and to fully understand that she needs to know just how fucked up it's been. How I've treated women, Carlisle, even the fucked up scene of the allegedly prim and proper art crowd that Jane introduced me to. It's not as if its part of my life now, but for a brief time, it was. The women were willing…more than willing to try anything, especially if it meant the latest talk of the art world was involved.

While Brahms fills the studio, my mind wanders back to the parties that Jane used to take me to. Looking back, it was for her benefit only. I was a means to an end for her. I was a million dollar meal ticket that she fully cashed in on.

I think back to the dark rooms housed in the basement of the expensive mansion of the woman who bought the first painting in my collection. To an outsider, it's an overstated, posh home of a rich and extremely pampered house wife, whose husband takes frequent business trips, turning a blind eye to her indulgences, which include extremely young and desperate men who are willing to engage her erotic fantasies. I'm not one of them. I've done a lot of shit- God knows I'm anything but a saint- but even I draw the line at women and men disguised in masks, and willing to engage in voyeuristic, hedonistic group sex. No. Fucking. Thank you.

So, while Jane engaged in whatever the flavour of the moment was, I spent time upstairs, making idle chit chat with beyond wealthy art collectors and slipping out early…usually with some hot woman who was also not into the scene downstairs, but who wanted to fuck with no strings. That's who I was. Most of the time, I didn't even get their name. Those names I did get, I just wanted to forget in the morning. I shudder when I think about the person I used to be.

I'm blending a dark mix of reds together, my mood matching the paint, when a persistent knocking interrupts me. Fucking Jane. I know it's her, and my patience is wearing thin. I leave the palette on the desk, switch off the iPod, and take the stairs two at a time to the door. She's got the red power suit on today, which means she's all business.

"Painting again?" she asks, cocking her head to the side as the rain pours down.

"Isn't that what you want?" I ask.

"How is it coming along?"

"I would get a lot more done if I wasn't constantly interrupted," I say, shutting the door behind her as she saunters in like she owns the place.

"I got a call yesterday from Jessica Stanley. You remember her? The one whose house you walked out on about a year ago after she bought your first painting?"

"Yeah, I remember. I'm pretty sure you know my views on this. She's into shit that's just not my scene, and it's not going to be."

"Oh, relax. She's just wondering about your collection. Rumours are starting to circulate about it," she says.

I look at her skeptically. "That should make you happy, then."

She snickers and takes a step towards me. "You know I only want what's best for you, Edward."

"You only want what's best for _you_, Jane. I'm working, so unless there's something you actually need from me..."

"How's your piece coming for the auction?" she asks forebodingly.

"It's almost done," I admit.

She smiles almost devilishly. "May I see it?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"This is me. If you can't show it to me, who can you show it to?"

"Jane..."

She sweeps her eyes down me appreciatively and I feel slightly nauseous. I seriously do not have it in me to have this conversation with her again. "You seem less tense since the last time I saw you. Does this have anything to do with the ladies running the auction?" she asks, arching an eyebrow and issuing me _the_ look.

"I already told you I met someone. It shouldn't be a surprise to you, and why do you care, anyway?" I bark at her.

"You know I'll always care about you. Even if we aren't…together anymore, I'll always be interested in your life," she purrs, running her hand up my arm.

"And your point is?" I ask, twisting from her and crossing to the kitchen.

"If she makes you happy, then I'm happy for you. Does she?"

"Does she what?"

"Make you happy? Does she give you everything you need? Everything you want?" she asks suggestively, and I know where she's going with this discussion.

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

"I know what makes you happy, and you could have it so easily. I know what you like. I know it's not as hardcore as what happens at Jessica's, but there are things I can do for you. Things I have done for you."

"You don't know anything about me and what makes me happy. Not anymore. Whatever we had is in the past and that's where it's going to stay. You are my art dealer. Period."

She closes the distance between us and looks up at me possessively almost. "Is it really that easy for you? To forget everything we had?" she asks.

"It was over a year ago. I was a different person, and if I remember correctly, you were fucking anything that looked your way, so don't stand here and pretend that we had something, because I can assure you, we didn't." I know that sounds harsh, but honestly, I'm not sure what else to do at this point.

"Hmmm. You keep telling yourself that," she murmurs.

"You know, I would think you'd understand the need for me to paint. You're not helping yourself. The faster I get this done, the faster you can sell it, make your commission, and we can go our separate ways."

"Is that what you really want? For us to go our separate ways?" she asks.

"I think that's for the best. Once this collection is done, I'm not even sure what I'm going to do. I might take some time off."

She huffs and shakes her head. "You're an artist, Edward. You couldn't stop painting if you wanted to. It's in your blood."

I run my fingers through my hair. "I know." Fuck I hate that she knows me this well.

"Look, I only want to see you succeed. For people to recognize how talented you are. Jessica is having a get together on the weekend. It would be a good chance for you to get back out into the community. You've been hiding away for too long. People need to see you, Edward. They want to see you. You could even bring this mystery lady of yours," she suggests.

"I'm not taking Bella anywhere near those people."

She snickers and shakes her head at me. "Doesn't sound like she's exactly your type."

"I don't have a type, and she's different than anyone I've ever been with."

"Oh my God. Edward Cullen is in love? She must be one fantastic lay," she says mockingly.

"This isn't your concern," I seethe.

"If it's affecting your work, it _is _my concern," she challenges.

"My work has never been better," I counter.

"Prove it." She's practically daring me. Fucking bitch. While I hate every Goddamn minute of this, she knows exactly what she's doing. She knows this is only fuelling my desire, my need to paint.

"You know the way I work. I don't let anyone see my work-"

"Before it's done, I know," she finishes dismissively, rolling her eyes. "God, you've gone all tortured artist on me all of a sudden."

And now, I've had enough. "Why the hell are you here? Why are you asking to see my work when you know what the answer is going to be?"

"I'm promoting you the best I can, but without seeing it myself, it makes it difficult," she admits, and on some level, I know that she's right, but I'm not about to give in that easily. I don't want her to see it.

"I'm fairly certain you'll figure it out. You're a smart woman, and you know what you're doing."

She sighs in defeat, knowing she's not getting anything more from me. "Will you at least consider coming to the party on the weekend? It's not just Jessica and the group from the gallery. Riley Biers from the New York Gallery of Modern Art is going to be there," she says casually.

I'm momentarily speechless and I feel my heart start to race. "The New York Gallery?" I ask, praying I heard her correctly.

She smiles at me and nods her head slowly. "Riley and I went to university together. Let's just say, he owes me," she says rather cryptically.

"And you've told him about my collection?"

"He saw your first one and I told him you were getting close to releasing your next. He was...intrigued, to say the least."

"Intrigued, as in..."

"He wants to see it. When it's done, of course. They're opening a new exhibit in the fall," she says, watching me closely.

"So, my work could be hanging in the New York Gallery?" The mere thought of a life long dream coming to fruition is overwhelming. I feel the adrenaline spike as I consider the possibility.

"It's entirely possible, yes. A few artists are going to be there on Saturday. It's a good opportunity. That's why I stopped by. Contrary to what you seem to think about me, not everything I do has an ulterior motive," she says dryly.

"I'm sorry, Jane. I didn't realize you were..."

"I was what? Doing my job? Get over yourself. As you've pointed out countless times before, I _am _your art dealer. I know what I'm doing. So let me do it."

I just nod my head, feeling like a scolded child, which quite frankly, fits with my behaviour. I mean, Jane is persistent when it comes to what she wants, which was, I thought, me, up until today. This has thrown me for a loop, to say the least.

"Call me when you've decided if you're going to make an appearance. Oh, and tell your girlfriend I said hello." She turns on her heel and lets herself out into the morning rain, leaving me with a hell of a lot to think about.

This is one of my dreams...The New York Gallery, The Tate Modern, The National Gallery. All on the list of museums I want to see my work hanging in. I make my way quickly back up to the studio and whip the covers off the canvasses, my heart racing through my chest at the possibility of seeing these hanging in the places Mom always talked about. In the same gallery as Matisse and Ofili. The gallery we had planned to visit, but never got to. I owe it to her to try to do this. I owe it to me. I recover the completed pieces, turn the iPod back on, and get lost with my brushes in a sea of possibility.

XXXXXX

It's a damn good thing I remembered to set an alarm on my phone. When it goes off, I'm practically dripping in paint and I have no idea how the time has managed to slip away so fast. I clean off the brushes methodically, and then, spend as long as I possibly can in the shower, trying to remove the paint from my skin.

It's six-twenty when I pull up in front of the Bella's and I'm feeling pretty damn proud of myself, because for once, I'm actually early. I turn the key to her house repeatedly between my fingers, wondering if I should actually just let myself in. As tempting as that is, I decide against it and knock on the door.

It's a mere nanosecond before she's wailing open the door and standing with her head cocked to the side at me. Oh fuck. What now? "You look-" I start, but she cuts me off.

"We need to talk." Nothing good ever comes from those four little words.

"What's wrong?" I ask, still standing outside. At least it's not raining anymore.

"What exactly is Jane to you?" she asks, still holding the door and not letting me in.

I swallow loudly. I didn't see that one coming. "Pardon me?"

"I know she's your art dealer, but clearly, something else is going on or was going on between you guys," she says warily.

"Why would you say that?"

"I saw her today."

"Where? Where did you see her?" I ask, panic starting to take hold as I go through the possibilities.

"At James' studio." _What the fuck?_

Anger spikes and my heart pounds. "What the fuck were you doing at James' studio? I told you not to go anywhere near him, Bella."

She puts her little hand on her perfect hip and looks really pissed off. "I am not a child, Edward, and I was there with Rose. We went to see his work for the auction."

"Oh, fuck," I mumble. She's seen the painting. The painting I neglected to tell her about.

"Wait…what does that mean? Have you seen…do you know about what he's painted?" she asks, looking horrified.

I shut my eyes, wishing to hell I never went to James' studio. "I saw him yesterday. I was at his studio," I answer, bracing myself for her reaction. I've got no idea how she's going to feel about this.

"And you just forgot to mention that? That he's painting a fucked up bondage portrait of me?" she asks, her voice rising.

"To be honest, last night, my mind was on other things," I say like the idiot I am.

"Other things? Things that would make you neglect to relay this little piece information to me? Do you have any idea how that made me feel? To see me tied up? My legs, my arms? A little warning would have been nice, Edward. God, you're an ass sometimes," she rants, opening the door further and letting me in before turning away from me.

"Bella, I didn't think…"

"That seems to be a reoccurring theme with you," she barks, and I totally deserve it.

"I'm sorry and you're right. I should have said something. It's just…when I got here, I was late, and then there was the photo shoot and the wine-"

She puts her hands up, as if in surrender, and shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be yelling at you. It's not like _you're _the one painting it. I am curious about something, though."

"Ok…" Oh dear God. What is she curious about?

She bites her lip and stares back at me, her expression worried. "Jane was talking like bondage was something you're…you're into. How would she know that?" she asks innocently.

I rake my fingers through my hair. "I'm not into bondage, Bella. At least, not the way I'm sure she made you think." I can only imagine what Jane has said to her.

"You and Jane used to be together, didn't you?" she asks quietly, taking a step back from me.

I nod my head. 'It was a long time ago, but yeah."

"What's a long time ago to you?"

"Last year," I confirm. Fuck my life. If there was a way to turn back the clock…

"That's not that long ago," she says softly. "And you guys used to…forget it." She fidgets nervously with her shirt and looks anywhere but at me.

Jesus Christ. I will not let Jane, of all people, come between us. "Bella, I'm not going to lie to you. Jane was into some stuff that's outside of what most people consider to be a normal relationship. There's this whole other lifestyle that a lot of people don't really know about or understand out there," I try to explain, knowing it's pointless.

"And you're into that sort of thing?" She looks appalled at the thought.

"No. I mean, I enjoy pushing the boundaries, a little, but not to the extent that Jane does. I'm not a whips and punishment type of guy. And I'm definitely not into bondage. I want your hands free to explore every inch of me," I tease. She looks at me skeptically. "She really upset you, didn't she?"

"I think it's safe to say that even though it's over for you, she doesn't share that sentiment. If she could have brought me down with a look, it would have been done this afternoon."

I close the distance between us and tentatively take her hand in mine. "I'm sorry. I'll talk to her," I say softly.

She stares back at me and sighs. "I really wish you wouldn't. It will just make it worse, I'm sure." She squeezes my hand in reassurance. "We should probably get going. I'm sure there's some disaster brewing in the kitchen at Mom's place."

"Could I ask you something, first?" I wrap my arm around her waist and bring her flush against me. "Could I, maybe, kiss you?" She smirks and nods her head quickly. I still my lips over hers. "You are so beautiful. Please don't doubt how much you mean to me, Bella." I spend the next ten minutes trying to show her how much.

We pull up to a small bungalow where the front lawn is home to large dream catchers and wind chimes nailed to the mature maple trees that sit in the yard. Colourful garden gnomes peek out from the over grown plants that wrap around the house. There are two Harley's sitting in the driveway, and I do a double take of the plants along the side of the house as we make our way to the door. "Bella?"

"Yeah?" She stops at the electric purple coloured front door and looks up at me.

"Are those pot plants?" I whisper.

"Yeah. Phil's a legal medical marijuana grower."

I just about drop the bottle of wine I've brought. "Are you being serious?"

"Does it sound like I'm joking?" she asks, smirking at me.

"How do you become one of those?"

"There's an application online. It's all totally legal," she says as if this is the most normal thing in the world. She knocks and walks into the house at the same time. "Mom? Phil?"

A clamour echoes through the small house and then a whirlwind of flailing arms and crazed curly brown hair, sprints towards us, followed by a hairy, black dog that looks just as excited as she does. I'm not sure which scares me more, this woman, or the dog.

"Bella, honey!" She's barefoot and has on a blue flowery skirt that goes to her ankles and a white tube top that leaves nothing to the imagination. _Holy shit, Cullen! Look away! _The dog, who is wearing a red bandana around his neck, takes up house on my leg and begins humping it while I try to discreetly shake it off.

"Hey, Mom," Bella says as her mother envelopes her into a hug. "This is Edward. Edward, Renee."

"Well…let me look at you," Renee says, taking my hand and running her fingers over the palm while she eyes me closely. "He's hot, Bella."

"Mom…" Bella turns a fascinating shade of pink while she shakes her head.

"Hmm, hmm." She scans down my body, nodding her head, and then pulls me into a hug while the dog continues its assault on my leg. I'm assuming this means I pass inspection from both Renee and the dog. "Welcome, Edward. It's been quite a while since Bella has brought anyone here."

"I wonder why that is?" Bella asks incredulously.

"It's nice to meet you, Renee. Um, your dog is…"

"Oh! Get down, you fool!" she says, gingerly removing the mass of fur from my leg. "Sorry about that. This is Molson."

"You named your dog after beer?" I ask.

She laughs and shrugs her shoulders. "Phil named him. They like to enjoy a nice, cold one together on the porch sometimes," she explains.

"What kind of dog is he?"

"That's a good question. We don't know, actually. Part shepherd, part husky, part something else." Molson barks once beside her as if he's agreeing with her description. "He just appeared on our doorstep two years ago and we couldn't turn him away, could we, baby?" Renee crouches down in front of me and starts kissing the dog's the neck and pulling him towards her. I divert my eyes because I can see right down her tube top and the last thing I need is for Bella to think I'm checking out her mother, especially since I know we have a hell of a lot more to talk about, given the way the night started out.

Bella rolls her eyes and takes a step into the kitchen. "What are you cooking in here?" she asks.

Renee claps her hands together. "Oh! Wait until you see! It's Spanish Paella. Vegetarian, of course, dear." She wraps her arm around Bella's shoulder and guides her towards the kitchen where we are just about overcome by the smell of garlic that permeates the small room.

The kitchen is a bright, vibrant yellow…and I mean _everything_ is yellow. The cupboards, the walls, the table, the homemade cushions on the old mismatched chairs, even the floor is a shade of yellow.

"Mom? How much garlic are you using?" Bella asks, moving to the archaic, miniscule stove that looks like it's from the 1940's. She stirs the large pan that's on the oven and raises her eyebrows to Renee suspiciously.

"I don't know. You know I don't measure anything," Renee says dismissively, moving to the counter and pouring wine into a large, yellow plastic wine glass. She hands it to me and I place the bottle of wine I brought on the lemon coloured counter, trying not to shudder from the fact that I'm about to drink wine from a plastic glass.

"Oh, we'll use the wine Edward brought, instead!" Renee gushes, looking at the bottle appreciatively. I take a sip of the wine she's given me and almost cough it back up. "It'll be way better than Phil's daily special."

"Phil makes his own wine," Bella informs me. Of course he does. Somehow, I'm not surprised.

Renee frowns. "Yes. This latest batch is a little dicey, I must say." Renee takes her glass to the sink and pours the contents of Phil's homemade mystery wine down the drain. "Phil! Bella and Edward are here!" she yells at the top of her lungs, shaking her head. "He's probably watching Monster Garage or some other stupid reality show. He's addicted."

Molson barks and disappears into room beside the kitchen. Renee nudges Bella out of the way, takes over stirring, and starts nattering on about the ingredients in the recipe. I ask her a few questions about the recipe, intrigued that she's taking cooking classes; although, to be honest, judging from the state the kitchen is in, I'm not sure she should be trusted in the kitchen. There are pots and pans scattered everywhere, overflowing in the sink, as if she's had several failed attempts to make the dinner before this one was successful.

A throat clearing in the doorway gains my attention and I turn to see a very tattooed man leaning against it, his arms crossed in front of him, looking menacing to say the least. Renee is oblivious to his presence and continues to explain how her new found love of Spanish cooking has resulted in her and Phil planning a trip to Spain next year. "Bella!" Phil's voice booms, and he crosses the room, pulling her into a hug. His tattoos are amazingly detailed, and I find myself studying them closely.

Bella pats his back and then pulls away from him. "Phil, this is Edward."

"Good to meet you, Edward," he says, grabbing my hand and squeezing it tightly, narrowing his eyes at me. "If you hurt her, I'll break your balls. Are we clear?"

"Phil!" Renee scolds from the oven. "Just ignore him. He's all talk." She points the spatula at Phil in warning and resumes stirring.

Judging from the look in Phil's eyes and the sheer amount of ink he's sporting, I'm not so sure I believe her. "I would never hurt Bella," I say assuredly.

He nods his head at me once and roughly releases my hand. "Good," he says. Clearly, and thankfully, that little conversation is over and he makes his way to Renee, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. "What smells so good in here, baby?"

Bella shakes her head and hands me a corkscrew. I'm thankful I have something to do other than watch while Phil feels Renee up not so subtly in front of the stove. "Ok, Mom? Seriously? Are we going to eat, or would you two like some alone time?" Bella asks as I hand her a plastic glass filled with wine.

Renee giggles and empties the paella onto a large yellow serving tray, placing it in the middle of the rickety kitchen table. "Let's eat!" Renee says excitedly. Phil takes a seat at the head of the table while Renee hands him a massive helping of the questionable looking paella, which he digs into eagerly.

"Hmm. It's fantastic, baby. You're a genius!" he compliments her. She blushes and scoops out large amounts of the concoction onto our plates. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little afraid to try this. The spices are overwhelming and making my eyes water, but Phil seems be enjoying it, so I dig in.

I regret that decision almost immediately. My entire mouth is on fire, and I choke back the helping of paella, swallowing it while it burns my throat. I drink down the entire glass of wine while Renee and Phil laugh at me. "It's spicy. Probably should have told you that," Renee says.

I spend the rest of the meal alternating between the wine and miniscule bites of the paella while Phil watches in rapt amusement. I contemplate trying to stealthily feed Molson who has decided to take up shop under my chair, but I wouldn't want to injure the poor dog's mouth.

The good news is that the wine has loosened us all up and by the end of dinner we are laughing loudly while Renee reminds them of her frequent disasters in the kitchen. Apparently, tonight's dish was her best ever. I wonder just how bad things had to be to make _this _meal the best she's ever made.

Before we leave, Renee gives Bella three crystals which she claims she needs to help give her strength. Renee then takes my hand again and studies it closely, tracing the lines in my palm. "You're a good man, Edward. A little lost maybe, but you have a good heart. Don't fuck this up," she says firmly.

Phil has to pry Molson off my leg when we try to open the door after Renee is done with her psychic assessment of my life. Molson lies down on the porch with his head on his paws, watching as I lead Bella to the car while Phil and Renee sit in the swing on the porch and start making out. The whole experience is a little surreal and eye opening. Bella is nothing like Renee, and I wonder what her father was like. I wish I could have met him.

"I'm sorry. I completely understand if you never want to see me again," Bella says, only half joking while we pull away from their house.

"Don't be ridiculous. They're fantastic," I say, trying to reassure her.

"I should have warned you more about Renee's cooking. She's a spaz in the kitchen."

"It was fine. Stop worrying."

She laughs. "Do you think you're going to get lucky or something tonight?" she asks.

"What?"

"Edward, that meal was horrific. You don't need to pretend that you liked it."

"OK. So, she's a little creative in the kitchen. That's alright. She's trying, at least," I offer.

"You _are _trying to get lucky tonight, aren't you?"

"Maybe. Am I on my way?" I ask hopefully. _Please say yes…please say yes._

"Depends," she says playfully.

"On what?"

"On whether you feel like parking tonight."

"Parking? What are we seventeen?" I ask, although the idea of making out with Bella in my car is a definite turn on.

"I want to show you something."

"Oh, really?" I tease, picking up speed towards her house.

"Yeah, really." She moves her little hand to my thigh and my dick -which quite honestly has been frightened for most of the night- immediately takes note. She directs me to Queen Elizabeth Park, which I had been to during the day with Mom, but never at night. It's uncharacteristically clear tonight with only a few stars, the moon no where in sight.

The parking lot is deserted and she gets out of the car, extending her hand to me and leading me across the grass, stopping in front of a sculpture that I recognize immediately.

She turns to me and smiles. "This is…"

"Henry Moore's Knife Edge," I say, staring back at her.

"Oh, you know?" Her face falls. "Of course you know." She shakes her head and turns in the direction of the fountain behind the sculpture.

I rest my fingers under her chin and tilt her face up to mine. "Hey. It's beautiful. I've never seen it at night. It's a completely different experience than during the day."

"It's exactly the same," she protests, pouting at me slightly, and I can see that, somehow, she's disappointed in herself.

I brush her hair behind her shoulder and shake my head. "No. It's not the same. You just have to look at it differently."

She crosses her arms in front of her and gets that determined look on her face that I'm coming to know and love. "How?" she challenges.

"Come here," I say. She takes a small step towards me and I lace my fingers with hers, squeezing gently and then tear my gaze from her to the sculpture. "This is one of Moore's earliest pieces. It's iconic, really. See the space between the two parts?" She nods her head and tilts it to the side as if that can make her see it better. "You can see through it. This piece blends nature with art. It invites you to enter it. So, you're not just a spectator, you can become part of it." I drop her hand and walk around the sculpture, watching as her fantastically beautiful form comes in and out of view while I circle it. "Moore always said that art should have a mystery about it. He didn't just want someone to look at one of his sculptures blankly, and keep on going. He wanted people to think about what it means, how it makes you feel."

"And what does it mean to you?" she asks.

I walk back to her and cup her face between my hands. "I think it's a delicate balance. Sharp, solid cuts across the sky and gives way to smooth curves," I whisper, running my hands down her side and cupping her glorious ass, coaxing her towards me. She giggles and runs her hands up my chest. I shut my eyes and breathe her in. She feels so right, so perfect, so unbelievably sexy.

"Is that right?" she teases, moving her hands from my chest to the back of my neck, lightly tracing the hair there.

I open my eyes and brush my lips in front of hers. "There's tension between the pieces, but somehow, they work together. And now, at night, the light from the stars, the light from the fountain, the movement of trees that you can see between the two pieces, brings it to life." Her breathing elevates and I smile at the affect I seem to have on her. "A lot of people think this is a static and cold piece. But I see energy and vitality. What do you see?" I move her hair to the side and skim my lips across her exposed neck. Fuck, she feels amazing.

She tilts her head back to give me better access, which I greedily take, nipping and tasting, wanting to loose myself completely in her. "Two big pieces of rock," she breathes. We both burst out laughing and she moves her hands from my neck into my hair.

"Yeah, there's that, too," I agree, kissing her slowly, our lips melding together, my want and desire growing with each minute I spend with her. She shivers as my hands travel down her back, pressing her closer to me. "Are you cold?"

"No," she murmurs against my lips. I smile and trace the top of her jeans with my fingers before moving them up under her shirt, skimming my fingers over her bra, eliciting another shiver from her.

"Would you like to get out of here?" I ask.

She nods her head and then tucks it against my shoulder as we walk back through the empty park. I am in awe of her and how she wanted to show me this. "Thank you for bringing me here," I whisper into her hair.

"You've seen it before," she says in protest.

"Not like this and not with you."

We arrive at the car and she wraps her arm around my waist, squeezing me gently. I push her against the door of the car, pressing my embarrassingly hard erection against her. I need her. I need her right now. I bring my lips to hers, begging and pleading for her to want me. She pulls on the bottom of my shirt, grinding herself against me, our tongues thrashing against each other, our panting become louder while she works on the button of my jeans.

Jesus you're in a parking lot!

Unfortunately…or not, my dick is in full control of this situation, and as such, my ability to protest has been obliterated and replaced by my shameless thrusting against her in an effort to find some sort of friction.

All I feel, all I want, is her. There has never been anyone that makes me this crazy…this out of control. She tugs the zipper on my jeans down and wiggles her hand in, the pressure threatening to release as she strokes me hard. "Fuck, Bella. Don't stop," I groan. I rest my head on her shoulder and she presses forward, her breasts flush against me. She bites down on my neck before pushing my jeans down further and freeing my dick which I'm sure I hear whimper slightly in thanks. Right now, I don't really care that we're in a public parking lot. "Please, baby. I'm dying here."

"Do you like it when I touch you?" she whispers, just about sending me over the edge as she throws some of my words from this morning's fuck-hot shower back at me.

"Fuck, yes," I murmur, my head lolling back while I place my hands against the car on either side of her. Something in the back of my mind registers the distinct sound of a car starting and revving. She kisses me hard, and she tastes like hot spices and wine. My mind spins, intoxicated by her hand that's expertly circling my tip and then stroking slowly down. Teasing, tempting and making me weak with want. She already knows exactly what to do to drive me insane.

She kisses along my jaw, her hand starting to set a steady pace. She takes my bottom lip between her teeth and bites down lightly, before licking across it with her tongue and sighing softly. I desperately claim her lips, one hand leaving the side of the car to cup her ass. She squeezes me tighter. "Edward, tell me what you want," she growls, pulling back and licking her bottom lip, her breathing elevated while she waits. Holy fuck. It's taking everything in me not to fuck her right now against the car.

Then, something changes and she stops abruptly. I'm about ready to explode or protest, I'm not sure which, but when I see the look on her face, all rational thought leaves me. She's frozen, her eyes wide in terror, the colour drained almost completely from her face. I turn to see the lights of the revving car start to speed their way towards us through the otherwise empty parking lot.

_Chapter End Notes_

_God, I hate it when that happens._

_Thanks for reading and reviewing._

_Brahms Piano Quartet in C Minor, Opus 60. Simply amazing:www(dot)youtub(dot)_/watch?v=IDaBUGBBTa4

_A visual on Henry Moore's Knife Edge:_ .

_Yes, you can grow medicinal marijuana legally in Canada. Yet another reason to love us Canadians!_

_Twitter: CarLemon_


	27. Chapter 27

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. August 2010.

**Many thanks to my amazing beta xrxdanixrx, who provides the banner, and writes four wonderful stories. Much love, hun!**

**Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thank you.**

**A million thanks to MizzezPattinson who graciously agreed to pre-read this chapter for me. XO BB.**

**Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean the world. **

**Oh, lets see what happens next. Come… join me. **

BPOV

Chapter 27

I can't think. My body is frozen where I stand. It's like I'm watching in slow motion. The lights from the oncoming car get progressively closer, faster, the squeal of the tires gets infinitely louder, until Edward takes control, lifting me effortlessly, and launching his body to the front of his car. He twists under me and hits the pavement as I fall on top of him.

He lets out a painful sounding groan, and then wraps one arm around my shoulder, the other around my waist, pulling us onto the grass as the car swerves around his, narrowly missing the back end. I'm suddenly flipped over on the grass and he hovers over me, my heart hammering in my chest. I feel the colour drain from my face while Edward keeps a protective stance firmly over my body.

The car slows to a stop as I try to roll away. He's having none of it, his vice grip around my waist keeping me firmly in place under him, clearly where he wants me. I can feel his heart pounding in his chest while he narrows his eyes at the car. I crane my neck in the hopes to see something more than I got the other night. It's pointless, however, as the car peels out of the parking lot and into the darkened night.

His breathing is coming in pants while he watches, making sure the car isn't coming back. He slowly turns his head back to me, his eyes almost black. "Are you alright?" he breathes. "Bella?" He looks down, his eyes clearly focused on my prosthetic. He rolls to the side, sits up, and scans my body.

"It's okay," I manage. "What about you?" I sit up beside him, my whole body trembling while I try to calm down.

"Who gives a fuck about me," he mutters, running his hand down my jeans to the top of my prosthetic and furrowing his brow.

"Edward. You hit your head. Let me see." I sink my hands into his hair. He winces and shuts his eyes.

"I'm fine," he protests while he pulls his jeans back up his thighs.

"We need to get you to a doctor. You might have a concussion or something."

"I don't have a concussion. Is that…was that the same car from the other night?" he asks.

"I don't know. I couldn't really see it," I admit, my breathing starting to return to normal.

"What does your gut tell you?" I just stare back at him, the glow from the overhead light bouncing off his concerned face while I silently answer him. "This is fucked up, Bella. Who the fuck would want to hurt you?" he barks at me. I simply shake my head. While I actually have a few ideas on that, I'm not about to tell him. At least not right now. "We're going to the police."

Two hours and one extremely silent car ride back to my house later, I'm completely exhausted. The night has been a whirlwind of emotions and I'm starting to crash. Edward alternates between shifting gears and rubbing soothing circles on the back of my hand, watching me more than the road.

He pulls up in front of my house and shuts the car off. "You're quiet," he says, leaning back in the seat.

"I'm just trying to process what's happened today. It's all kind of overwhelming," I admit.

He takes a deep breath, turning in his seat towards me. "You have an idea about who this is, don't you?" he accuses.

"I'm not sure."

He rakes both of his hands through his hair. "For fuck's sake, Bella! You can't keep shit like this from me. If you know something, you need to tell me or the police. I mean why–"

"Edward, please." I shut my eyes. "I just want to go to bed and sleep. I'm exhausted and I really don't feel like rehashing everything that's happened tonight," I argue, opening the door and starting for the house.

I hear him slam his door, and then, he's beside me. "I'm sorry. Listen. I know you're upset. So am I. The thought of something happening to you…it's just." He squeezes his eyes shut. "I can't loose you. You're the only thing that's good in my life," he says sincerely.

I look up at him, his expression beyond worried. I feel horrible for stressing him out. "I'm not going anywhere. Well, that's a lie. I'm going to bed." I open the door while he shifts nervously beside me. "Are you coming in? I mean, I know tonight has been crazy and intense, and you probably want a break or something…" My voice trails and he closes the distance between us, cupping my face between his hands.

"I'll stay. As long as you'll have me," he murmurs. Relief washes through me. I can't even imagine being alone right now. While the police have added the incident to my file, there really isn't anything they can do about it, and quite honestly, that doesn't exactly sit well with me.

I wonder what Charlie would have done in this situation. While Edward rubs my shoulders and tells me I'm tense, I contemplate calling Mom to get her opinion on the situation. I push that thought away quickly. She would likely just end up coming over to perform some chants and douse the walls with protection oil.

Twenty minutes later, I'm soaking in lavender scented goodness in a bath that Edward has drawn for me. He's leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, watching me like a hawk.

"Did you want to join me?" I ask hopefully.

"Can I?"

"I really wish you would."

He smiles and whisks his shirt over his head while I gawk at him, the anticipation spiking between us. He makes quick work of his jeans and his boxers, and then, is at the side of the tub, gingerly sinking in behind me. I chuckle to myself at the complexity of this man. So sure of himself one minute, the next, afraid to ask to join me in a bath he insisted to prepare for me. He places his legs to either side of my body and wraps his arm around my waist, bringing me flush against his chest and sighing.

"Much better," I murmur, letting my head loll back.

"You can say that again," he mumbles. We sit quietly for a few minutes, letting the soothing oils sink in, washing away the events of the evening, and for a few blissful minutes, its just Edward and me The rest of the world ceases to exist, and I am truly content in a place where dark cars can't touch us. I close my eyes and let the feeling take over.

Several minutes later, he's circling my hip bone with his fingers. "Is this weird for you?" I ask, placing my hand over his, running it over my thigh.

"No. Not at all. It's part of who you are. Is it weird for you to have me here?" he asks softly.

"Honestly, a bit," I admit. I feel his body stiffen slightly. "Not in a bad way. It's just that I was starting to think I'd never be able to share this with anyone. I had kind of resigned myself to taking baths alone." I run my fingers down his legs. I feel him relax slightly, the warmth of his body enveloping me.

"You don't have to anymore. You don't have to do anything alone," he whispers, brushing my hair behind my neck and kissing it softly. His hand slowly traces over my breast, down to my navel, his fingers sinking into me. "Tell me how this feels." He spreads his fingers slightly and starts a slow rhythmic pattern.

"Hmmm," I moan. There are no words for what this man makes me feel.

He stills his fingers and lowers his mouth to my shoulder. "That's not exactly an answer," he teases, his lips moving back up to my neck. "I'll tell you what I feel." He buries his nose in my hair and breathes deeply. "Warm, wet, perfection."

"Hmmm," I answer, my breathing hitching as I feel his erection behind me. He presses his hips forward, his fingers moving deeper, faster, my body reacting to every touch while he pushes me closer to release. "Edward…"

"Let me feel it, Bella," he whispers, his fingers skillfully moving. The warmth spreads quickly through me, our breathing ragged, my fingers digging into his thighs. "So good, baby."

His targeted strokes continue, the warmth explodes, pulsating and intense. My head falls back onto his chest, my cries filling the room as he takes me into oblivion. "Warm, wet, perfection," he murmurs, kissing my shoulder while my body tingles as it comes down.

I melt into his chest, completely exhausted and wanting nothing more than to stay in this tub, with this man, for as long as humanly possible. Eventually, the water cools and we're forced to get out. He lifts me from the tub, wrapping me in a towel and carrying me to the bedroom.

He refuses to let me get my pajamas myself; instead, he brings them to me and watches as I pull the t-shirt over my head and shimmy into the sleep shorts. He doesn't seem bothered by the fact that he doesn't have pajamas. Quite honestly, neither am I. I rest my head on his chest and shut my eyes, contentment taking me quickly into sleep.

XXXXXX

The sun streams into the room, dancing across his disheveled hair while he breathes deeply beside me. I run my fingers through his hair and over the little bump at the back of his head, shaking my own on how he could have been really hurt trying to pull his quasi-hero-like move last night. While I trace the planes of his chest, I marvel at just how much my life has changed in such a short period of time. He moans and turns his body to me, his arm flailing out and resting over my hip, the faintest hint of a smile playing across his perfect lips.

"Hmm, Edward? Are you fake-sleeping to try to get closer to me?" I ask, his erection pressing against me.

"Can't hear you…sleeping," he mumbles.

"You talk quite well for being asleep," I tease.

"I'm multi-talented," he says, gently rolling me onto my back and hovering over me.

"Weren't we in this position, not too long ago?"

"I like to have you under me. However I can get it," he says.

"Even if it means almost getting yourself killed?"

"Yes. At least I'd die happy," he murmurs.

"Don't say stuff like that," I scold.

He snickers and kisses my forehead. "I'm kidding. Well, partially. I do like you under me like this. It makes it easy to kiss you here…" he trails his nose down the column of my neck and kisses my collarbone, "and here…" he rolls to the side, yanking my t-shirt down to expose my shoulder, pulling the flesh between his teeth, "oh and let's not forget here." He lifts the hem of my t-shirt, his lips grazing my navel.

"Edward," I semi-warn, although it doesn't sound too convincing, even to me.

"Hmm, can't hear you. I'm sleeping, remember?" He pushes my pajama shorts down and circles his tongue around my hip bone.

"Edward…"

"I know. You have to go to work." He sighs and reluctantly crawls back up beside me, his hand replacing his tongue at my hip. "I'm coming with you."

"Ah, why is that?" I ask.

"I just am," he says solidly.

"You can't protect me twenty-four hours a day. Nothing is going to happen at work," I argue.

He narrows his eyes at me. "I don't like the idea of you going there by yourself," he says.

"I'll be fine. Although, Lauren is just itching to ask you to the auction. Maybe you could make her day?" I tease.

"She wants to ask me to the auction?" he asks, looking slightly horrified.

"Yes. Please don't tell me that's a surprise to you."

"Yeah, actually. I'm not sure why she would-"

"You're kidding me right now, right? She got a taste of you, for lack of a better word, and she wants more," I explain.

His eyes grow wide as he hits me playfully in the shoulder. "I can't believe you just said that!"

"Oh, please. This is me you're talking to. Have you forgotten what I saw?"

His expression changes. "You know that's not me. Not anymore," he says quietly.

I shake my head at him. "I know. I'm sorry. I was just teasing you. She does want to ask you, though."

"The only person I want to take to the auction is you," he says, kissing me lightly.

"Is Edward Cullen asking me out on a date?" I tease.

"Mmm. Seems I am. What have you done to me?" he murmurs, his lips grazing over mine while Vancouver starts to wake up.

XXXXXX

"Morning, Lauren," I say, more chipper than normal as I arrive at the office with Rose's latte. Edward and I compromised on his coming-to-work-we-me insane idea, and instead, he drove me, dropping me off at the front door and watching until I was safely inside. A little over-the-top, but I keep reminding myself that his heart is in the right place.

"Hey, Bella. I called Edward again last night. He's not returning my calls. Have you seen him lately?" she asks, practically pouting at me.

I smirk at her. "Yes. This morning, actually. I woke up with him," I taunt. Her eyes grow wide as saucers, and I leave her to think about that.

The Rose Interrogation lasts longer than normal while I relay last night's events to her. She furrows her eyebrows and listens intently. She's not impressed and considers having Emmett trail along behind me until whatever this is blows over.

"I don't need a security detail, Rose. I'm sure it's just a coincidence," I argue.

"Really? That's one hell of a coincidence, don't you think?" Rose asks pointedly.

I shake her off. "I'm not going to let it run my life. If something else happens, I'll just deal with it," I say dismissively.

She nods her head, knowing that this conversation is over, for now. "Still on for the weekend at Rev?" she asks.

"Yeah. It'll be good for me to get back there. Emmett's right, I can't just expect to get onto skis and go down the mountain again like nothing ever happened."

"Amazing that this was his idea and it's actually a good one," she says sarcastically. "Are you bringing Edward?"

"I haven't asked him yet," I say, getting a visual of Edward and me at the cabin…in the mountains…hmmm.

"But you're going to, right?"

"Yeah, I'm going to," I confirm. We spend the rest of the morning in planning sessions for the auction.

It's after one o'clock when I look up to my doorway and find Mike, waving a brown bag at me. "I assumed you locked yourself in here when we didn't see you for lunch," he says, smiling at me. "Vegetable panini?"

"That would be awesome. Thanks, Mike," I say, motioning for him to sit. "How was your head after the bar?"

"I spent most of the weekend in bed. Guess I'm a light weight when it comes to drinking," he says shyly.

"It was some pretty hard stuff. Don't feel too bad," I say, unwrapping the sandwich.

He laughs nervously and stares at me. Oh no. I recognize that look. He's going to ask me out… again. "So, um, Bella? I was wondering if you had a date… you know, for the auction," he stammers.

"Actually, I do. I'm going with Edward," I say, taking a bite of the sandwich.

"The dick painter?" he asks, furrowing his brow.

"He's actually not a dick. I know it probably seems like he is, but he's not," I say defensively.

"Could have fooled me," he mutters. "Well, save me a dance at least?" He looks at me hopefully.

"I don't dance," I say. He nods and pushes out of the chair. "I'll still see you there, okay?" He looks like he's lost a little puppy or something. "Thanks for the sandwich."

"Anytime," he says, issuing me a half smile and disappearing back down the hallway. I kind of feel bad for Mike. My cell phone buzzes from the corner of my desk, abruptly ending that thought. I smile at the text from Edward.

_**How are u? –E**_

_**Good. Just doing spreadsheets – B**_

_**Hmm. Lucky spreadsheets *wink* – E**_

_**Behave –B**_

_**That is me behaving – E**_

_**Are u painting? –B**_

_**What else is there? –E**_

_**Lots of things I can think of –B**_

I smirk as I hit send.

_**Now who needs to behave? Can I see u tonight? I'll bring dinner –E**_

_**Sounds good –B**_

_**Painting calls X – E**_

_**So do spreadsheets –B**_

_**Can I spread you on some sheets? –E**_

I laugh at how ridiculous he is.

_**Behave –B**_

_**Not Tonight X –E**_

_**I'll meet you at my house – B**_

_**I'll be waiting X– E**_

I shake my head and continue with the budget. It's close to five before I know it and I've had enough of number crunching. I pack up my laptop and take the stairs, practically running into Lauren, who is looking extremely cozy as she grinds herself up against James outside the door. The scene is eerily similar and I try to push the unwelcome memory of Edward with Lauren away.

James' face turns to mine and he offers me a smug smile, wrapping his arm around Lauren's shoulder. "Bella. How are you?" he asks.

Lauren scowls at me and tries to get herself closer to him. "I'm good, James. What brings you over here?" I ask.

"I came to apologize for the other day. I know that Jane is intense and probably said some things that she shouldn't have, but she does kind of have a point. It's hard to put a limit on creativity, Bella," he says, locking his eyes to mine.

I feel the familiar uneasiness overtakes me that accompanies me anytime I'm in his presence. "I know and I understand that. It's just that your type of creativity isn't going to work with the auction," I say.

"I get that, I guess. Actually, Lauren here has agreed to do some modeling for me since it's so offensive to you," he says sharply.

"James is going to be my date for the auction," Lauren purrs, sliding her hand up his arm, which makes me slightly nauseous, but relieved at the same time.

"That's great. It should be a lot of fun," I say, while James continues to stare at me, his eyes burning. I need to get out of here. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Lauren."

She smiles and cocks her head to the side at me while I walk away. I start a steady pace, Lauren's high pitched laughter filling the air behind me as I round the corner and take the short walk home. I'm anxious the whole way, periodically checking over my shoulder while my heart beats faster than it should. I'm pissed off that the stupid incidents with the cars have made me feel this way.

_It's just random. It's just random._

No matter how many times I repeat the words in my head, I can't help but feel that it's not.

Relief washes over me when I see Edward's car parked in front of my house. I open the door, assaulted by the sounds of classical music, and the fragrant smell of rice and ginger.

Edward is standing at my stove, scowling and muttering under his breath, completely oblivious to my presence. So, I watch him, the sleeves on his dark blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, his hair in massive disarray and housing paint splatters, his dark jeans, hanging off his hips while he stirs something in a pot. "What's for dinner, dear?" I ask in amusement, leaning against the counter and setting my bags down.

He jerks his head to me and smiles. "Welcome home, baby," he says, leaning across the counter and kissing me hard. "Jasmine rice with ginger and cilantro, steamed vegetables, and warm Naan bread." He returns to the stove, studying the pot closely.

"Sounds amazing," I say.

He furrows his eyebrows. "You could use a new stove, and new pots," he complains.

"Thanks, Tips."

He laughs and removes the pot from the stove. "Wine?" he asks, nodding his head to the bottle of red already open on the counter.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he teases, pouring me a glass.

"Thanks." I take a sip and enjoy how wonderful it tastes. Edward definitely knows wine. "What is this?"

"Artadi Viñas de Gain, 2006. It's a wonderful mix of vanilla and blackberry." He takes a sip and shuts his eyes. "It's a full bodied wine," he says, waggling his eyebrows at me. "What do you think of it?"

"It's good," I say. He laughs and returns to the stove, spooning out the rice into a large bowl.

"How long have you been here?" I ask, looking at the set table.

"Not too long. I'm later than I expected. I got caught up in painting." He carries the rice to the table, moving back to the stove to retrieve another bowl full of steamed vegetables. "It's ready," he says proudly.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do all this." I wrap my arms around his waist. I could get used to coming home to Edward.

"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to," he says, reaching around me and pulling out a chair for me.

The food is incredible, and I tell him that after practically every bite. He shrugs his shoulders as if it's no big deal, and continues to refill my wine glass.

"Hmm. Saturday we're all going to Revelstoke for the weekend. You know, psyching myself up for skiing in the winter. Did you want to join us?" I ask hopefully.

His face falls and he rakes his hands through his hair. "I kind of have something on Saturday night."

"Oh." My heart falls, disappointment washing over me. What "something" could he have?

He senses my mood and reaches across the table to grab my hand. "There's a get together with the curator from the New York Museum of Modern Art that Jane has arranged." The hairs on the back of my neck stand up at the mention of her name. "They're interested in my collection," he says excitedly.

"That's amazing, Edward!"

"I can cancel, I mean, this is going to be a big weekend for you and I-"

"Are you out of your mind? You can't cancel this after you've worked so hard for it. The mountain will always be there. We can go back together another time," I say.

He smiles and starts to natter on about the museum, most of his words merely echoing around me while I take a moment to try to wrap my head around the fact that he's here, in my kitchen and has made this amazing dinner. It's more than anyone has ever done for me before. It's a little overwhelming, the turn my life has taken with this beautiful, misunderstood man.

"What do you think?" he asks, his eyes alight with playfulness.

"Sorry, about what?"

"Were you even listening to a word I just said?"

"Umm- "

"I asked you if you wanted to go New York with me if they decide to show my paintings there," he says.

"You want me to go to New York with you?" I ask skeptically.

"Of course I do. This collection, it's as much yours as it is mine. More so, actually," he says sincerely.

"I've never been to New York," I say quietly.

"Me, either," he says. "It's a date, then."

"Another date, hmm?"

"Seems to be a trend developing," he says, pushing back from the table and collecting the dishes, putting them in the sink.

Edward spends the rest of the night talking about museums, his mom, and how important this would have been to her. He's on a mission to try to finish more of the collection before the weekend. With every word, every uniquely Edward gesture that he makes, I find myself falling further and further. The feelings I've already developed, deepening with each passing moment. And while that is scary as hell, it's also electrifying.

The nightly routine with my leg, once a chore, now is drastically different. Edward's touches are reverent and sensual at the same time. Both of us desperate in our own way to strengthen the growing need for each other. We fall asleep close to midnight, both of us completely exhausted.

XXXXXX

Jake cancels our run in the morning. Apparently he and Leah have had a fight, and he's trying to get himself out of the doghouse. I'm also feeling the loss of Edward today. He's immersed in painting, sending only sporadic, quick texts at random intervals throughout the day. I resist the temptation to go to see him. I'm sure I'd be more of a distraction than anything. Even though seeing him in his element is probably one of the most fascinating and sexually charged experiences I've ever had, I don't want to disturb him.

I do, however, get the pleasure of seeing James with his tongue planted down Lauren's throat when I leave for the day. He offers me a smirk as he wraps his arm around her shoulder while he guides her into the elevator. I take the stairs.

I have to walk home in the rain and am soaked when I get to my door because, in my haste to convince Edward that I can handle walking to work by myself this morning, I've forgotten my umbrella. I'm squeezing the rain out of the ends of my hair with a towel when the unmistakable sound of Alice's voice floats down the hallway to me. "Bella?" Alice sings.

"Hey. I'll be right there." When I emerge from the bathroom, Jasper is firing up his iMac at the table while Alice is standing at my fridge, furrowing her eyebrows as she scans the contents. "Hey, what's up?" I ask.

Alice gives me the once over and scowls. "I forgot my umbrella," I explain.

She gives me an unimpressed nod and then pulls me by the hand to the table. "Wait until you see these pictures!' she gushes. "People are going to flip!"

Jasper smiles at her, still enamored and amused by her exuberance even after five years. It's really amazing to see two people that are meant to be together. "They are pretty hot," he admits. He leans back in the chair while Alice bounces behind him.

"Look!" she screeches.

I tilt my head to the side and feel my face instantly flush at the picture of Edward, completely soaked, his strong arms wrapped around my waist, his head bent, his lips hovering just over mine while the rain falls down in the halo of the streetlight. Holy crap! Jasper keeps clicking through the pictures, each of them equally hot, until he stops at one of Edward by himself, all dark and intense, the rain dripping off his hair. Jasper has photoshopped paint splatters emerging from the raindrops into the background. "We're going to use this for the cover," Alice squeals in excitement.

"They're pretty good," I tease.

"Pretty good? Are you blind?" Alice shouts in protest. "These are amazing!"

"Yeah, they are," I admit. "They're really wonderful, Jasper."

"We wanted to show you before we sent them to editing," Alice says. Jasper clicks through to one of Rose, Edward, and me. "We'll use this one for the article, and a few more of just Edward." I look at the picture of the three of us, Edward and Rose looking like fashion models from some hot Calvin Klein ad, and me, completely out of place.

"Sounds great," I say, trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Oh, is Edward coming on the weekend?" Alice asks.

"No. He can't make it," I say, the disappointment clear in my voice.

She narrows her eyes at me. "What does that mean?" she asks warily.

"Relax. He's meeting with some people from a museum in New York. They're interested in his collection."

"That's amazing!" Alice yells.

"Yeah, he's pretty excited," I agree.

"A museum in New York is a big deal," Jasper says.

"I know his work is good. But a museum in New York! This auction is going to be a massive hit," Alice says, and spends the next hour explaining to us both how.

Once Alice and Jasper have packed up and left, the house feels empty. I check my phone for messages, the last one coming just before I left for the day that simply said:

_**Can't stop painting. Will call tonight X – E**_

I glance at the clock. It's already almost nine-thirty and I'm wondering if he's going to actually call. I would hate to interrupt him, so I resist the temptation. I decide to pull out some of the leftovers from last night and heat them in the microwave.

I watch the relatively empty street while I eat at the table alone, hoping he'll pull up soon in a flurry of anxiousness. I'm rinsing my dishes in the sink when a car pulls up in front of the house and switches off its lights. I feel the smile break across my face as I wait for the signs of his crazed hair to peek up from the door of the car.

The door doesn't open.

It's not Edward's car.

My heart starts to race, for a very different reason. I squint my eyes, trying to see into the darkened windows, which is pointless. Holy fuck. I stand frozen at the sink, not wanting to move, my eyes transfixed to the car. So, maybe it's just somebody stopping because of the rain. It is coming down pretty hard. Or, maybe it's just someone waiting for the rain to stop before they go to visit one of my neighbours. That's definitely possible. Or, maybe, Rose is right and I should have Emmett with me.

The panic spikes while the rain continues to pound down. Suddenly, the car's lights come on, and it takes off down the street, another car taking its place in front of the house. Edward gets out of the car, slamming the door shut and running through the rain to the front door.

He knocks and comes in at the same time, scanning the room until he finds me, frozen to the floor at the sink. Concern washes over him. "What's wrong?" he asks, crossing to the kitchen and wrapping his arms around me.

"Nothing. You just scared me," I say, trying to shake off the ridiculous paranoia I've whipped myself into.

"You sure?" he asks, staring down at me.

"Yeah. I missed you today," I say, kissing him deeply, my anxiety morphing quickly to desire, my hands knitting into his hair and pulling him closer to me.

"Hmm," he says, resting his forehead on mine. "I'll stay away longer next time if it means I get a welcome like that."

"Please don't," I say, hoping he doesn't sense the stress in my voice.

He chuckles and kisses me deeply, his hands drifting down to settle in the back pockets of my jeans. He squeezes gently and then lifts me straight up, carrying me down the hallway. "We have a nightly routine to do," he says, smirking at me.

XXXXXX

I am sitting, ensconced in a blue glass gondola, Rose holding my hand in a vice grip while panic starts to overtake me. Emmett sits beside me, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, the only thing keeping me from sinking to the floor, I'm sure.

I had no idea this would be so hard. My heart is hammering in my chest, the inside of the gondola spinning before me as I feel the unmistakable start of a panic attack. I lower my head between my legs, hoping to stop it before it starts.

"We don't have to do this, Bella," Jasper says.

"Yes. We do," I protest, my voice squeaking. Emmett holds me tighter as we climb higher. I can't even appreciate the beauty of the mountain at this time of year. I'm afraid if I look out the windows, I'll pass out.

"Talk to me. Distract me so I think of something else," I say, staring at the floor as it spins faster.

"The magazine comes out on Monday," Alice says quickly. "Wait until you see it, Bella. It's really amazing, isn't it, Jazz?"

"Yeah, it's pretty awesome. Some of my best work, if I do say so myself. Although I think that's mostly because of you, Bella," Jasper says.

"I said talk to me, not lie to me," I say, trying to laugh. My palms start to sweat and I feel my body start to shake.

"B, seriously. We can just stay on here and go back down," Emmett says softly.

"Emmett, I'm doing this. I have to do this," I bark at him, issuing him the death stare.

"Okay," he acquiesces, squeezing my shoulder. He eyes Rose questioningly, the concern evident on both of their faces.

"So, we've already had sex twice today," Rose says. We all burst out laughing while she smirks at me, her eyebrows raised. This is one of the many reasons why I love her so much. Of course, she would find something that would make me laugh at a time like this. She squeezes my hand in reassurance and continues to look out the window while I rest my head on Emmett's massive shoulder.

The gondola slows and then gently stops, rocking back and forth, signaling our arrival at the summit. Alice looks at me and nods her head, opening the door and jumping down with Jasper following right behind her. He starts snapping pictures almost immediately.

The trees in front of the door start to spin. My heart is in my throat as Rose grips my hand forcefully and pulls me gently from my safe haven. I squeeze my eyes shut. "I'm right beside you, alright? We can just stand right here. We don't have to move," Rose says.

"I've got you, B," Emmett says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. Jasper and Alice's voices become muffled while I squeeze my eyes tighter before opening them. I can do this. I have to do this. I've come so far. I will not let this mountain take one more thing from me.

I open my eyes and look down to the trail that changed my life. It all flashes before me, distinctly and vividly. My breathing comes in gasps as I see myself take the first turn perfectly, and then loose my edge, my arms flailing, trying in vain to keep steady. The binding fails and I feel the impact of my leg while it shatters through my skin. The overwhelming thought I have as a pair of strong arms keeps me from falling...I wish the arms were Edward's.

XXXXXX

"Maybe we shouldn't have come. She's not ready for this," Rose's voice sounds pissed off, and that's never a good thing.

"It's been five years, babe. Bella's a strong woman, and this was her idea," Emmett says. Hmm…Emmett taking on Rose? What the hell? I must be dreaming.

I hear a door shut and rustling noises coming from another room. "Rene said to burn some cleansing oils and give her some mint tea." Alice's voice seems less enthusiastic than normal.

"Fucking insightful, as always," Rose says sarcastically.

I sit up slowly from the couch I'm on, the room spinning slightly. We're in the cabin that we've rented for the weekend. I don't remember how we got here, and I have no idea how long I've been out.

"Oils? You mean like Crisco?" Emmett asks seriously.

"God you're an idiot sometimes," Rose says while Jasper laughs at him.

"What?" Emmett asks.

"She means like Jasmine or something. I'll check in the bathroom. Maybe there's something in there," Alice says.

"Sorry, guys," I manage. My throat is dry and cottony. I really need a drink of water.

"Don't be sorry, B. How are you feeling?" Emmett asks, sitting down beside me and pulling me into his chest.

"I'm alright. How long was I out?" I ask.

"A while. You didn't hit your head or anything. I think you were just overwhelmed," Jasper says, sinking down to the chair beside me.

"Yeah, Rene says it's the body's self preservation mechanism...that, and something about your spirit guide. She asked if you brought the crystals she gave you," Alice says.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, those are right beside my dream catcher and my rain stick," I say.

Emmett laughs and nudges me in the shoulder. "We can come back another time," he offers.

"What? No. I want to go back up," I complain.

They all exchange worried glances. "Well, the gondola is actually closed for the day, so it'll have to be tomorrow, anyway," Rose states.

I'm not entirely sure I believe her, but I also know it's probably a good thing if we wait a day to try this again. "Okay. But we're going tomorrow," I vow determinedly.

Rose nods her head and sits beside me. "Do you want something to drink or eat?" she asks.

"Yeah, some water, then we'll break out the hard stuff," I propose.

"That's my girl," Rose says, smiling at me.

The next several hours are spent with the buffet of food and drink that are required anytime Emmett is around. We play the usual Drunktionary, which, essentially, is just Pictionary with a shot being taken every time you don't guess the picture correctly. When you have Emmett on your team, that's a lot of shots, and thankfully, I'm not on his team.

I'm feeling a little buzzed by the end of the night, but manage the nightly prosthetic routine without incident. I wish Edward was here. I miss him… a lot. This doesn't seem the same without him. I hop to the bed and tuck under the sheets, painfully aware that instead of a deliciously warm body beside me, I have nothing.

I wake in the middle of the night with my heart racing. I open my eyes and stare blankly out the window into the darkened night. My breathing is coming in gasps and I fear another panic attack. I sit up and take a sharp breath in at the dark figure standing in the doorway.

Chapter End Notes:

Hmmm, ideas?

Up next, EPOV

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Twitter: CarLemon


	28. Chapter 28

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. August 2010.

Many thanks to my amazing beta xrxdanixrx, who provides the banner, and writes four wonderful stories. Much, much love, hun!

Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thank you.

A million thanks to MizzezPattinson who graciously agreed to pre-read this chapter for me. XO BB.

I have been nominated for a few Hidden Star Awards. Many thanks to those who nominated. I am truly honoured that you are enjoying this story. Your support means the world to me. Voting in the second round starts Sept 16: http:/thehiddenstarawards(dot)blogspot(dot)com

Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your really are the best reviewers out there.

Let's check in with Edward.

EPOV

Chapter 28

I'm exhausted. I have painted so much this week, my fingers have calluses and my muscles ache from the sheer exertion. I'm running on little sleep, pure adrenaline the only thing keeping me still going, but I feel alive. This collection has ignited me, brought me back to life, made me want to work harder… well, actually, it's not the collection, it's Bella.

We continue on our journey, making what she likes to call "baby steps," but which I know are monumental. And with each touch, each moment we spend together, our connection intensifies. The feelings I have for her are foreign to me. I thought what I had with Angela was love; I now know that what I felt wasn't even close. It's hard to put into words how it feels when your entire life changes. When you stop giving a shit about yourself and exist only to make another person happy. I've never been good at words, and so, I do the only thing I can… I paint.

During the rare times when I'm alone in the loft and not painting, I worry about Bella. The incident in the parking lot has me shaken up, to say the least. The police can do nothing about it and are passing it off as random. Given the fact that Bella refuses to tell me her theories, I know she doesn't agree with the police and their lame assessment. I'm pissed off that she won't share what she thinks with me, but I do sort of understand it. Her need for independence has clearly emerged the winner in this particular conversation, for now.

Jane has been by only three times this week to check on me, lingering longer than is comfortable, and trying desperately to get a glance at the collection. She's beyond excited that I'm going to Jessica's to meet with Riley. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about that… for a number of reasons.

To have my work hanging in the gallery in New York would be a dream realized. Carlisle cried… real full on tears, when I told him about the possibility. He and Esme stopped by on Friday on their way to spend the weekend in Whistler. He's happy, truly happy again, and while it's going to take a very long time for me to forget the shit he's put me through, I think we're starting to take our own baby steps.

And so, while Bella makes her way to Revelstoke to battle her own demons, I'm standing in front of Jessica Stanley's house, ready to face my own. There are a lot of unwelcome memories associated with this place. It's where I found out who Jane really was, and the kind of shit that she and Jessica were into. To want to experiment is one thing, trust me, I know, but to act out fucked up fantasies in front of an audience who is more than willing to participate, is quite another.

Jessica's house is also where, on those nights when Jane would disappear with strangers to engage in said fantasies, that I would find my own stranger, and go back to her place, slinking out in the middle of the night, normally without even getting her name. Truth is, I guess I'm not all that different from Jane.

The house is also home to the first painting I ever sold, which now sits proudly on display on the massive wall in the living room of this over-the-top mansion that just screams, "look at me, I'm rich and, therefore, better than you."

Part of me knows that Jessica bought the painting under the false impression that I'd be some sort of boy-toy for her to engage her every fantasy. I distinctly remember nervously pacing in the gallery on the night of the opening, she and Jane hunkered down in the corner, laughing and whispering while they sipped on expensive Bollinger, deciding how much I was worth. In the end, it was one point two million dollars, so I guess I shouldn't complain all that much.

Between the pair of them, Jessica and Jane know a lot of people in the art world, and I know that I'd likely still be trying to break into it if it weren't for them. I also know that once this collection is done, that I'll be done with them, and free to move on to a new phase in my life. That moment can't come too soon. That moment starts tonight.

I ring the doorbell on the massive arched white doors at the front of the house and wait to be welcomed into my hell for the night. I shift nervously, pushing the sleeves on my shirt up to my elbows. Jane suggested I wear a suit tonight, but a suit is just not who I am. I'm here for one reason only; to meet Riley, and then get out as fast as possible.

Light jazz music spills out from the open windows, the sound of laughter and the buzz of pretentious conversations floating to me. A young and extremely in shape guy opens the door, dressed in a white suit with a thick black tie. I already feel like I'm going to vomit. He looks me up and down and holds the door open wider, motioning for me to come in.

"Oh!" I recognize the unmistakable high pitched shrill of Jessica's voice before I even see her. "Edward! It's been too long!" She emerges from a room to the side of the door, dressed in a tight white halter dress that ends just above her knee, and waving a glass of wine in her hand. She slides herself between the door guy and me, sticking her plastically enhanced tits out as she kisses one cheek, and then the other. "Why have you been such a stranger? We've missed you," she purrs, her eyes raking down me appreciatively. "You look well."

She does not. She smells like she's taken a bath in some really expensive perfume and she's already tipsy from way too much wine. "I've just been a little busy. Painting, you know?" I answer.

She nods and latches onto my arm, brushing past the door guy and shooing him away. "Come, there's so many people who want to see you!" she gushes, tripping slightly on the black marble floor in the foyer before pulling me into the room that's home to my painting.

I stop dead in my tracks, my blood boiling as my eyes move from my piece to James' fucked up bondage painting of Bella, which now hangs beside it. I fight the urge to rip it down and punch a whole through it. "What the fuck is that?" I seethe.

"What?" Jessica asks innocently, batting her eyes at me.

"Why is _that _hanging in here?" I growl.

"Oh! I just bought it. It's very avant-garde, don't you think? It's by a new up and coming artist. You might know him…oh! There he is! James! James!" she yells, jumping up and waving her hand at James, who is in deep conversation with one of Jessica's stuck up rich friends as Lauren hangs off his arm. My day just fucking keeps getting better and better.

James lifts his head and turns in Jessica's direction, smirking at me. Lauren's eyes grow wide when she sees me, and then, she tightens her grip around James' waist like she's afraid she's going to lose him or something as he stalks towards me. "Edward. We're finally on the same wall," James says, turning to the paintings and cocking his head to the side. "An interesting dichotomy between these pieces, don't you think? Yours, so abstract and vivid, and mine, so dark and intriguing. You know, it takes a special person to appreciate the kind of artists we are, Edward. It's easy for people to judge what they don't understand, to have an opinion on what real art is. It's people like you and me that challenge the conceptions of what art can be." Fucking jackass. My jaw clenches while I try really fucking hard not to pound the living shit out of him.

Jessica hums in agreement, even though she has no fucking idea what he's talking about. "I think they're both wonderful," she says. "What made you decide to paint her like this… so, vulnerable?"

I narrow my eyes at him, every muscle in my body coiling as James continues to stare at the painting. "See, that's the thing. She's not the vulnerable one here. She's the one in control. She holds all the power," he says, his eyes moving to Jessica's. "I think art should make people think and feel… it should move you, excite you, disgust you, even… it should be provocative, otherwise, what's the point of it?"

Jessica and Lauren hang on his every word while I try desperately not to hurl him through the glass table in the middle of the room. It's tempting… really fucking tempting. "She kind of looks like Bella," Lauren notes. "Don't you think so, Edward?"

James turns his head to me. "She looks like a lot of people," he says firmly. I shake my head at him and excuse myself from the conversation before I do something that I know I'm going to regret. I need a fucking stiff drink. He's got a lot of fucking nerve and its taking everything single thing in me not to haul his ass outside. But I've worked too hard and come too far to let someone like James ruin everything.

I move into a smaller room where more waiters dressed in white are busily refilling drinks and carrying trays with expensive hors d'oeuvres. I swipe a glass of wine from the top of one of the trays and down it quickly, handing it back to the waiter and helping myself to another. I sip it slowly, the liquid coating my throat while I stare out the window and try to calm the fuck down. At least its good wine and not some cheap shit.

"Having a hard day?" Jane's voice floats to me. I turn from the window and see her leaning back on a white leather couch. She's dressed in a red strapless dress and looking extremely proud of herself.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you sold James' painting," I hiss at her.

"I'm pretty sure that's none of your business," she says, pushing herself off the couch and slinking her way to me.

"Jane, I swear to God – "

She closes the distance between us and looks up at me, her eyes blazing. "What the hell is your problem? Are you upset that James' painting sold before yours did? That he beat you to the punch?" she asks snarkily. Fuck, she's a piece of work.

"I don't give a shit about whose painting sells first. Fuck!" I yell, my voice rising louder than it should with this many people. A few heads turn in our direction while she continues to glare at me.

"Um, am I interrupting? I can come back?" I keep my eyes locked to Jane, unable to even look at whatever asshole has decided to insert himself into our conversation.

Jane tears her eyes from me, her expression instantly softening. "No. Of course not! Riley Biers, this is Edward Cullen," Jane introduces.

Fuck me. Of course this is Riley, because that's just the way my fucking life works. He would have to be in the room when I almost lose it. "Nice to meet you, Edward. Jane here can't stop raving about you, and from what I saw in the other room, I have to agree with her. Your work is wonderful," he says. He's tall with blonde hair and dressed in a really expensive suit… probably the reason Jane wanted me to wear one.

"Thank you," I manage to say. He probably thinks I'm some deranged artist or something.

I shake his hand firmly and he cocks his head to me. "Jane says you're working on a new collection?" he asks.

"Yeah, I am. It's probably a few weeks from being finished," I explain while Jane stares at Riley like she wants to –

"Any chance that I could see it before your showing?" Riley asks hopefully.

I shake my head. "Not before it's done. It's not the way I work. I don't like being influenced by what people might say."

He nods his head. "Mysterious… I like it," he says.

"It's not all that mysterious, it's just one of my quirks. Jane hasn't even seen it yet."

"It's not for a lack of trying," she jokes, linking her arm with mine and leaning into me.

"To be able to resist Jane is a monumental achievement, Edward. You have more strength than I do. She can be very… persuasive," he says, eye-fucking her.

"Yes, she can be," I admit.

"Oh, stop," she says, feigning shyness. "I just know what I want, and I'm extremely good at getting it." She tightens her grip around my arm and pulls me closer to her, hooking her other arm around Riley's.

I feel nauseous again, like perhaps Riley's interest has less to do with my paintings and more to do with Jane. He can have her as far as I'm concerned. I move away from her, unhooking her arm while she pouts at me. I recognize that look. She's on the hunt tonight.

"I'll be coming back for your showing and if I like what I see, we'll go from there. You may need to spend some extended time in New York," he says.

"Extended time?" I ask.

Jane smirks. "Yes, you know, there will be a lot of events, promotions, meetings. You can't very well do that from Vancouver," she says, practically scolding me.

"No, I guess not." My thoughts immediately go to Bella and how she's going to feel about me going to New York for any length of time. Will she want to come with me? Is that even a possibility with her prosthetic? My heart sinks on how little I actually know about this. How long can she be gone? Does she have regular appointments she has to keep?

"I'll be with you the _whole_ time, so you won't have to do this alone. This _is_ what you want, isn't it? Your paintings on display in the same gallery as Ofili and Pollock? I mean, this is a once in a life time opportunity," Jane says.

"It's a wonderful opportunity. I hope that you see something you like at the showing," I say to Riley.

"If I can't see your collection yet, at least tell me what inspired it," Riley presses, while Jane wraps her arm around his waist tighter.

I hesitate before answering, and see Jessica, James, and Lauren along with a small crowd that has gathered around us and seems to be listening to our conversation. "Yes, Edward. We were beginning to think that maybe your first collection was all we would get," Jessica says incredulously.

I snicker at her. "You know, for a while I thought so, too. You don't know what it's like to stare at a blank canvas for as long as I did. It mocks you, makes you question why you're standing there in the first place," I say. James nods his head in understanding. "It's paralyzing and terrifying, and I was afraid of it for a while… afraid that maybe I'd never find the kind of passion that made me want to paint in the first place."

"And you found your passion again?" Jane asks, raising an unimpressed eyebrow and issuing me a death stare.

"Your passion just looks like a bunch of lines and swirls to me," Lauren says dismissively. James rolls his eyes, shaking his head at her.

"The thing is, a lot of people don't understand abstract art. They think it's random, that anyone can pick up a brush and throw some paint on a canvas. They look for things that are familiar to them… a chair, a landscape, the human form… and when they don't see those things, they dismiss it. They're afraid to open their minds to a different interpretation," I explain while Lauren stares at me. "The best abstract pieces have a life of their own, they're interpreted differently by everyone who sees them…that's what makes them each so unique. I don't paint what I see. I paint what I feel, what I imagine, what could be… and what results, isn't an accident."

"The New York crowd is going to eat you up, Edward," Riley says appreciatively. "It's refreshing to hear so much passion. Sometimes I think it's gone from a lot of the artists I see these days."

"Maybe you'd like to talk about it further, Edward," Jessica says suggestively, running her hand up my arm. I recoil immediately from her. I know where this is going and I also know where I'm going. As far away from here as I possibly can.

"Actually, I have somewhere I need to be. Thank you for inviting me, Jessica, Jane." I nod my head at her.

"Oh, Edward! You're not leaving me already? You just got here," Jane complains, her stare icy while she leans closer to me. "You're going to regret leaving like this." She says it so quietly, I'm not even sure I actually heard that correctly. I need to get out of here. Right the fuck now.

"Ladies, Edward might be leaving, but I'm still here. I have my own views on art, which aren't too different from Edward's," James says, cocking his head to the side at me and smirking.

"I look forward to seeing your work," Riley says, extending a hand. I shake it firmly and nod my head at him. "If you change your mind about wanting to show your work before it's done, call me." He hands me his card and turns his attention to Jane, whispering something into her ear I'm fairly certain I don't want to hear. She keeps her eyes locked to mine while he pulls her out of the room, and they disappear down the hallway with James and his new found followers.

Jessica spends the next half an hour blatantly attempting to seduce me into staying. She does everything but strip naked and give me a blow job… well, actually she does offer to, and I take that as my cue to get the fuck out. "You're nothing but a tease, Edward," she purrs, looking at me like I'm something she wants to eat.

I tell her some bullshit about her being way too good for me and quickly make my exit. She's not happy about being turned down… again, but it'll last less than a few minutes and she'll be on to the next random fuck of the night.

Driving back to the loft, I'm unsettled and anxious. I haven't seen Bella since yesterday and I miss her. I need to talk to her about tonight. There's so much I still need to say to her.

Before I know it, I've bought six Red Bulls at the Esso, and I'm on the Trans Canada Highway on my way to Revelstoke. About three quarters of the way there, I dial Emmett, hoping he's still up. I mean, it is after one in morning, and who knows what they've all been up to. He sounds drunk and half asleep when he answers the phone. "Edward, man. What's going on?" he asks.

"I'm on my way to meet you guys. Where are you staying?"

"You're coming here? Bella is going to shit, dude!"

"Don't tell her, okay? I want it to be a surprise."

"Dude, she's sleeping. There's no way I'm waking her up. Her room is the first one on the left downstairs when you get here. Try not to wake the rest of us up when you get here," he whispers. I hear Rose complain in the background, yelling at him to get the hell off the phone and back to bed. He gives me their address and I program it into the GPS, silently thanking the Garmin God's for their fantastic invention.

The drive, which is normally almost six hours, takes just over four because I'm driving like a lunatic. I'm also completely exhausted, the Red Bulls and the stale gum I found in the glove box, the only things keeping me awake. It's almost two-thirty when the painfully annoying Garmin voice tells me I'm arriving at my destination.

I pull up to a massive cabin with panoramic windows, nestled at the base of the mountain, surrounded by mature evergreen trees. I shut the car door quietly and slink up the stairs to the deck, feeling a little ridiculous… no one is going to see me, I don't know why I'm sneaking around. The cabin is completely dark and there's not another soul in sight.

I push open the front door and fumble around in the dark, my legs bumping into a chair while my eyes adjust to the lack of light. The cabin is silent as I make my way down the hallway. I gently turn the handle on the first door on the left, hoping to God that Emmett, in all his drunkenness, told me the right room. The last thing I need is to walk in on him and Rose.

I peek my head in and see Bella, sitting up in bed, clutching the sheets close to her chest as she stares blankly out the window. What the hell is she doing up? Her chest rises and falls rapidly and I wonder if she's had a nightmare. She turns her head slowly to the door and takes a loud gasp in, looking terrified. Oh shit! She's going to scream. I race to the bed while she cowers away from me.

"Bella, baby, it's me," I say, sitting in front of her and reaching for her hand.

She yanks it away from me. "What the fuck are you doing here? You scared the hell out of me!" She's visibly shaken and running her fingers through her hair nervously while I just sit here, feeling like an idiot.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I had to see you. I'm sorry… I was trying to surprise you," I say, moving closer and removing her hand from her hair.

"Mission accomplished," she says, reaching for a pillow and hitting me in the chest. "You should have called me!"

"I know. I'm sorry," I say, running my hand up her arm and cupping her cheek. Fuck, I've missed her.

Her breathing starts to return to normal while she stares at me, shaking her head. "This is my worst nightmare, you know."

What the hell? "Me showing up and surprising you?" I ask tentatively.

"No! Feeling helpless." She looks down at her leg. "I couldn't run right now… you know, if you were…" Her voice trails and I feel horrible. Something that was supposed to be a welcome surprise has turned so quickly because, once again, I didn't stop and think about anybody but myself.

"I didn't think. I'm sorry." I rest my forehead on hers and she sighs. "Don't be mad, okay? Please. I just missed you and I called Emmett and – "

"Emmett knew you were coming?" she asks, pulling away and looking more pissed off than she was.

"I told him not to tell you." She shakes her head and leans against the headboard, trying to calm down. "Can I get you something? Some water?" I ask quietly.

"No. I don't want water," she says coldly. Oh, fuck. I've royally screwed this up. "I just want you." She shifts down in the bed, her head resting on the pillow and holds the covers up. "Please?" Her voice softens and I smile back at her.

"I can sleep on the couch, if you want?" I suggest feebly. _Please say no… please say no. I need to feel you._

She narrows her eyes at me and raises the sheets higher. "Get in here, Cullen, or so help me…"

I laugh and kick my shoes off, sliding in beside her and pulling her gently into my chest. She sighs beside me, her body still trembling. "I'm sorry," I murmur, kissing her forehead, down her cheeks, and finally, her lips. She's shaking while I whisper my apology over and over as I kiss her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder, until she finally starts to relax.

"It's alright. I know you didn't mean to scare me. I'm jumpy these days," she says quietly.

I bury my head in her hair, breathing her in, trying to calm us both. "Bella, I worry about you. I mean, what if what happened the other night isn't random? If something ever happened to you…"

She leans back and cups my cheek. "Nothing is going to happen to me," she whispers.

"I don't want you going anywhere by yourself."

"I'm not a child," she protests.

"Baby, this clearly has you worried. You're shaking like a leaf."

"If you would have called me, I wouldn't be," she challenges.

"I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you," I murmur, moving down in the bed, desperate to feel her.

She puts her hands on my shoulders and her body stiffens. "Can you just hold me? Please?" she asks quietly. "I mean, I know you just drove all the way here and you probably want to… you know." She looks away shyly.

I shift back up beside her. "Hey. I didn't drive here just so we could… you know." She smirks and laughs. "I want to be here for you. I missed you," I admit. _You have no idea how much I missed you. _ She quickly rests her head on my chest, wrapping her arm around my waist. I stroke her hair, content to just lay in silence.

"Thank you, Edward," she says sleepily.

I kiss the top of her head and pull her closer, knowing there is no where else I'd rather be.

XXXXXX

"Rise and Shine! Wakey, wakey!" Who the fuck is this chipper this Goddamn early in the morning? I squint my eyes and see Alice, bouncing up and down at the foot of the bed, already dressed and looking way too eager. Coffee… I need fucking coffee.

I groan and pull the sheets back up over my head, reaching for Bella. My hand lands on an empty, cold spot. I open my eyes, moving the sheet down, and see her standing in the doorway already dressed with an amused expression on her face.

"Why aren't you in bed?" I whine.

"It's ten-thirty. We have a mountain to take on," she says firmly, clearly enjoying the fact that I've been woken up by the squealing energizer bunny.

I rub my eyes and fall back onto the pillow. "Mountain… right. Ah, give me a couple of minutes?" I plead.

"You've got ten, Edward," Alice says forcefully. "That gondola is leaving with or without you."

"Alright! I'm getting up," I complain, tearing the sheets off and sitting up in bed. Alice nods her head, looking pretty fucking proud of herself for waking me up, and then practically hops out the door.

"Is she always this…?" I struggle to find the words for the little whirlwind that is Alice.

"Yes," Bella says, sitting beside me. "Morning." She kisses me softly and my dick complains against my jeans.

"I don't like waking up without you," I say, wrapping my arm around her waist and trying to coax her closer.

"You needed to sleep," she says, leaning into me.

"I _still _need to sleep."

"Alice will whip your ass if you're not on that gondola," she says, laughing. "I will, too." Her face falls while she wrings her hands together nervously.

"Hey, what's going on?" I ask, cupping her face between my hands.

She hesitates, afraid to open up to me. "I couldn't do it yesterday. I passed out and – "

"You passed out? What?"

"It was just a panic attack and Emmett caught me before I fell," she says dismissively.

I brush her hair behind her shoulder and rest my lips against her neck. "Bella, maybe you shouldn't – "

She stands up and glares at me. "I'm going, Edward. I have to," she says determinedly, but looking scared as hell.

I nod back at her. "Okay. Give me five minutes."

Twenty minutes later, after I've gulped back coffee and a muffin, Bella is holding onto my hand for dear life while the gondola makes its way up the mountain. Emmett and Rose are nattering on about his epic Pictionary debacle last night and Jasper is busy snapping off pictures. Alice has one arm wrapped around Bella and is staring at me cautiously.

"So, where were you last night anyway, Cullen?" Rose asks.

"I was meeting with my art dealer."

Bella's body stiffens further and she shuts her eyes. "He was meeting with the curator from the New York Gallery," she clarifies.

"What?" Alice asks.

"It's not a big deal," I say dismissively, not wanting to take away from a day that is supposed to be all about her.

"It _is_ a big deal, Edward," Bella argues while the gondola grinds to a halt.

"Not really," I say. Jasper opens the door to the gondola and jumps out, holding his hand out for Alice. They take a few steps towards the trees where Jasper resumes taking pictures.

Bella shifts in her seat and stares at me. "Why are you arguing with me right now?" she asks angrily.

"I'm not arguing." I stand up and gently coax her to the door while Rose and Emmett watch us closely.

"God! You are the most stubborn person I know." I step out the door and lift her down, which makes her even more pissed off. "I don't need your help, Edward. I can do this," she says defiantly.

I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her back to me. "I know you can," I whisper, bending to kiss her, one hand lacing through her hair, the other, splaying down the small of her back. She moans and reaches her hands up to my hair, lacing her fingers through and pulling forcefully. I pull away and smirk at her. "So do it."

She narrows her eyes at me and then breaks into that determined look I've grown to know and love. She turns from me and takes a tentative step forward. Emmett stands beside her and wraps his arm around her shoulder, whispering something in her ear. She nods her head and smiles at him, reaching her hand out to Rose, who takes it, holding it tightly.

I don't know how long the six of us stand in silence at the top of the mountain, the wind picking up slightly, whistling through the trees, the gondola creaking while it sways and makes the circuit back down the mountain. The whole time, Bella just stands in front of me, her body rigid, her breathing shallow. Rose never lets go of her hand. Alice and Jasper stay with their arms wrapped around each other, Alice exchanging concerned glances with me every few minutes.

It takes everything in me not to whisk her back down, away from here, away from everything. I can do nothing but stand and watch as she battles internally, countless times looking like she's going to take a step, but never being able to actually do it.

My heart breaks while I watch the woman I've come to love struggle. Emotion starts to overtake me. I need to paint. I wish I could do something, anything to help her. I look at Alice for guidance. A fuck of a lot of time has passed, and I'm starting to worry that Bella is starting to emotionally shut down. Alice just smiles weakly, offering me nothing in the way of reassurance. I'm about ready to suggest that we head back, when Bella starts walking.

Rose and Emmett are right beside her as her strides become more determined, and progressively faster. Alice starts jumping up and down and covers her mouth to keep from squealing. Jasper resumes snapping off pictures while they march down the trail, stopping abruptly in front of a massive fir tree.

I see Bella hunch over, placing her hands on her knees like she's just run a marathon or something. I start for her, but Jasper puts his hand on my arm, stopping me. He shakes his head in warning. "Just give her a minute. She needs to do it," he says.

Emmett and Rose drop back and Bella takes a few steps closer to the tree. "You fucking son of a bitch!" she screams over and over, her strained voice echoing back through the mountain. She picks up anything she can find on the ground, hurling it at the tree, releasing five years of anger and suffering, loss and pain. I feel the tears well up unannounced while I watch her, so wanting to make it all go away, but knowing there's no way I can.

Alice looks at Jasper frantically and he just shakes his head at her. The screaming and the hurling stop abruptly and then, she's silent, staring at the tree for what seems like hours. Finally, she turns and launches herself at Rose, wrapping her arms around her neck. The three of them start laughing, their voices stirring the birds in the trees and filling the otherwise quiet air.

Alice wipes the tears from her cheeks and kisses Jasper while I watch in amazement as the three of them walk back towards us, Emmett keeping his arm wrapped around Bella's shoulder. They stop in front of us and Alice runs, hugging each of them while Jasper takes more pictures. I am in awe of her. Her strength, her willingness to have me be a part of something so clearly personal is overwhelming.

Bella releases Alice from the hug and walks purposefully to me. I see the tears streaming down her face… tears of joy, anger, release. She wraps her arms around my waist and I bury my head into her shoulder. "You did it," I whisper.

"Thank you," she says through her hitched breathing.

"I didn't do anything. You're amazing and that was all you," I whisper, holding her to me, not wanting to ever let her go.

She pulls back and stares up at me. "You're here, and that means everything to me."

"I'm always going to be here, Bella. Always."

She stills her lips over mine. "Take me home, Edward."

Chapter End Notes:

Hmmm…whatcha thinking?

Twitter: CarLemon

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	29. Chapter 29

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. September 2010.

Many thanks to my amazing beta xrxdanixrx, who also provides the banner. Check out her new fic: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO hun!

Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thank you.

A million thanks to MizzezPattinson who graciously agreed to pre-read this chapter for me. XO BB. I don't know what I'd do without you.

Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean the world.

Let's check in with Bella.

Chapter 29

The drive home from Revelstoke is a reflective one, for both of us. I tell him about how confronting the mountain is just one step in a healing process that is far from over. The real test will come in January, when I face the mountain again… on skis. But, for now, I feel stronger, more confident, more at ease with myself than I have in a very long time.

Edward seems surprised when I tell him that he has a lot to do with that. And so, I try to explain to him how I was rejected by other men who couldn't wrap their heads around the fact that I am an amputee. How people, even now, treat me differently and assume I'm incapable of doing things. How judgments are made about me before people even give me a chance.

Edward listens, squeezing my hand in reassurance when I'm overcome with emotion. He doesn't try to change the subject or distract me; he just listens, knowing that's what I need.

We're an hour outside of Vancouver, when it starts raining. I'm emotionally drained. I lean back in the seat and shut my eyes, engulfed by a feeling of acceptance and understanding that I never thought I would find. I sink back into the comfortable seat and let the soothing classical music that Edward has turned on lull me into calm along with the rhythmic beat of the windshield wipers.

"I wish my mom could have met you," he says quietly.

I turn my head lazily towards him. "Me, too."

"She would have adored you." He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the palm. "Not quite as much as I do, but close."

My heart hammers in my chest while I stare at him, this man who is just as misunderstood as I am, facing his own struggles that I barely know anything about. His beautiful features are almost pained while he narrows his eyes, lost in his own thoughts. "You can talk to me, you know," I suggest gently.

He offers me a half smile. "I know, and I will. But today is all about you. I can't even begin to tell you what that was like for me today, to see you up there… so brave and just…" His voice trails and he starts to rub circles on the back of my hand. "Would you mind if we went to the studio? I need to paint," he says, almost in desperation.

"You can drop me off at my house, if you want," I suggest, assuming he's going to want to paint alone.

"No. I'd like for you to be there - I mean, if you're okay with that," he says anxiously.

This time, it's me squeezing his hand. "Of course," I agree, amazed that he wants me there. The only time I've seen him paint is when he did the piece for the auction. My face flushes at the memory and I wonder if he's contemplating doing something similar tonight. I glance down at my old jeans. At least Alice won't be freaked out if these get ruined.

Just over an hour later, I'm sitting in a high back leather chair at the desk in Edward's studio as he feverishly mixes paints together, almost as if he's in a trance or something, singly focused on his task. He stops and stares at a large, blank rectangular canvas across the room.

He sets the palette down and switches on the iPod, searching through it for only a few seconds before the studio is assaulted with an intense classical piece. He takes his button down shirt off and drops it on the desk, revealing a dark grey t-shirt that hugs every muscle in his chest perfectly.

I feel the blood pump faster through my veins and I watch as he stuffs a number of brushes into the back pocket of his jeans and then purposefully strides to the easel, determination rolling off him while the rain starts to pound harder against the windows of the studio.

The colours practically fly from his palette onto the canvas, varying shades of somber grey and blue covering the bottom half. He then layers vibrant orange and yellow that taper to peak up and off the canvas. It takes me a few minutes before I realize that he's painting the mountain.

He's completely silent as he paints, stopping only to switch brushes or wipe his brow with the back of his hand, his biceps flexing and straining under the sheer exertion. He paints like a man possessed, his movements becoming more intense, but always methodical as the music surrounds us.

I am in complete awe of this man. How he can take a blank and empty canvas and bring it to life. He deserves to have the world, and the world deserves to see his work. I wonder idly about how the meeting with the curator from the gallery went, and feel my body tense as I remember Jane was going to be there. I suppose I need to get used to her, if Edward and I are going to be together.

Time has, once again, ceased to matter while I watch him. I know that he's showing me something that he doesn't share with anyone, and it makes it that much more meaningful.

A loud clap of thunder, followed by a lightening strike, brings me out of my haze slightly and I jump in the chair, letting out a pathetic yelp. He whips his head to me in concern and then smirks, turning back to the canvas. A few moments later, another round of thunder rumbles loudly, rattling the windows. A flash of lightening illuminates the sky and then, the studio is plunged into darkness.

"Fuck!" Edward yells. 'Don't move, Bella. The power will probably come back on in a second." I hear him drop the brushes and the palette, muttering under his breath while he shuffles towards me. Its pitch black in the studio, the only light coming from the intermittent flashes of lightning. He starts laughing as I hear him bump into the desk, and the next burst of lightening highlights the fact that he's standing right in front of me.

"Jesus!" I scream. "You move fast!"

He chuckles and runs his hands up my arms, coaxing me to my feet and pulling me against his chest. "Do you like storms?" he asks, his voice dropping lower in the dark.

"Does anyone really _like_ storms?" I ask sarcastically.

"Hmmm." I feel his nose skim along my jaw before he stills his lips over mine. "I like storms. I like them a lot," he murmurs.

"You would."

He laughs quietly. "What's not to like?" he asks, another burst of lightening accenting the devilish look on his face.

"The fact that I can't see anything, for starters."

"Hmm, just means your other senses are that much more aware," he says suggestively.

"Really?"

He wraps one arm around my waist and runs his hand over my ass, squeezing it gently. "Yeah. Really." His lips travel down the column of my neck. "Do you feel that?" he asks.

"Hmmm," I mumble, my hand blindly moving down his stomach, to his jeans.

I flatten my palm against the ever hardening bulge and he takes a sharp breath in. "Bella…" he warns.

"Edward…" I move my hand boldly back up to the button on his jeans and pop it open.

His chest rises and falls quickly. "Jesus, Bella," he mumbles, his body jerking as the thunder rolls on.

"I though you liked storms?" I tease, slowly lowering his zipper and effectively ending his lame protest.

"Mmm. Wait… umm." His entire body tenses, making me drop my hands from his waist while my heart races. Maybe he's not ready to do this. I try to take a step back from him, but bump into the chair. His arms wrap around my waist and he pulls me into his chest. "Trust me. I want to. It's just… are you sure?" he asks softly, his fingers tracing my face while he waits in the darkness of his studio.

As the storm surges outside, and our deep breathing fills the studio, my heart stutters at this man who has accepted me, who has brought so much to my life, and I know I'm ready.

I move my hands around his shoulder, up his neck and into his hair. "Take me upstairs."

He takes a quick breath in as the lights flicker back to life and the iPod switches back on. He looks down at me, wanting and desperate, pure need radiating from him. He seems at a loss for words as he searches my eyes for reassurance.

The thunder crashes above us again and I break the silence. "I have everything I need in the car… you know. To stay…"

"Stay?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows to me.

"Yeah. Stay. Oh, did you get one of those drying racks?" I ask nervously.

He smirks and nods his head. 'Yeah. I did. I had one of my artist friends make one. He dabbles in sculpture," he explains dismissively as if that's not a big deal.

I shake my head at him. "You could have just bought something at Rona or Canadian Tire," I say.

"Yeah, I could have," he says confidently, lacing his fingers with mine and staring down at me.

My eyes dart to the half finished canvas, where his brushes are strewn across the floor, paint splattered underneath the easel. "Shouldn't we clean this up?" I ask, nodding my head towards the mini disaster.

"It can wait," he says, his eyes never leaving mine. He runs his paint covered fingers down my cheek and under my chin, tilting it up to him. "I am in awe of you. You're the bravest person I've ever known, Bella."

"No, I'm not," I say, trying to look away from him.

He holds my chin firmly, stilling his lips over mine. "Yes, you are." He kisses me slowly, deeply, my heart hammering in my chest. It feels like he's pouring his soul out to me. His touch is gentle and tentative as his hands move down my back, coming to rest on my waist. "I should get your bag," he mumbles, breaking the kiss and leaving my breathless.

"My bag?" I ask, clearly overcome by his intensity.

He chuckles and kisses me quickly. "Yeah," he says, smirking and clearly amused at my momentary zone out. "You know? With everything you need?" He trails his fingers up my back, producing a full body shiver.

"Right. Yeah," I say, shaking my head at the effect he knows he has on me.

He takes a step back from me and moves to the door. "I'll go get it," he offers.

"Okay," I whisper nervously. "Should I go up?"

He stops and turns back to me, a quirky smile on his face. "That_ is_ where the bedroom is," he states cockily, disappearing down the stairs.

I hear the door open and close downstairs and take a deep breath, slowly climbing up the stairs. Stopping just inside the doorway to his room, I flip a light switch on the wall beside me. My breathing elevates as I take in his room. It's massive, with large picture windows and a sky light over the bed. The furniture is ultra modern, expensive looking mahogany wood on the two dressers along the side wall. I cross the room and look out the window, marveling at the view of the harbour while the storm marches on. The expensive yachts bob against the docks, the lightening flashing sporadically against their hulls.

I hear a soft thud, the sound I think of my bag hitting the floor, and then, his arms wrap around my waist. He lowers his head to my neck, droplets of cool rain falling from his hair and hitting my skin as he sighs. "You look incredibly sexy in my room," he mutters, brushing my hair away from my neck. "I've wanted you in here for a long time."

"Mmm." It's all I can manage. I've lost the ability to speak as his lips start to kiss behind my ear, moving slowly down my neck. I lean my head back against his shoulder. His shirt is soaked through and cools my back while he presses his body forward and continues to lavish attention on my neck. I take a moment to soak in the feeling of being wanted this way. It's something I was starting to think would never happen.

The lightning explodes again and he slowly turns me to face him, his fingers trailing across my collarbone, down my shirt and between my breasts. He shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them. "How… I mean… what's the best way…" he stammers.

"I don't know. I was thinking maybe standing first," I suggest.

His eyes grow wide and darken slightly. "Standing?"

I laugh and cock my head to the side. "What, you've never fucked standing before?" I challenge, hoping to ease the stress from both of us.

"Jesus Christ, Bella. I've fucked plenty of times standing… oh, shit. That didn't come out right. I don't just want to fuck… I mean, I do… I just…" He rakes his fingers nervously through his hair, and once again, the lights flicker and die as the power goes out.

We both laugh while I blindly reach up and remove his hands from his hair, squeezing them in reassurance. "Edward. I'm just as much in the dark as you are… literally." He lets out an anxious half laugh. "We'll just try, okay?"

Still holding my hands for dear life, he lifts them to his lips and kisses the backs. "If I hurt you… you have to – "

"Stop talking," I interrupt him, kissing his shaking hands. "It's alright. We'll figure it out. I'm not saying it's going to be easy or perfect, or what you're probably used to, but-"

"Hey. I thought you said stop talking?" He kisses me slowly, his tongue moving gently with mine before he pulls back. "And it will be perfect because it's you." His lips find mine again in the dark and he shuffles back, coaxing me with him to the bed.

He pulls me on top of him, his lips leaving mine only to skim my cheeks, my neck, his murmurs filling the silent gaps between the thunder that continues to roll outside. My body ignites, fuelled by his want, taking in every kiss and reverent touch while he gently removes my shirt.

His breath heats my skin further as he rolls me gently to the side, nudging my shoulder back so I'm lying flat on the bed. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, his fingers tracing my lips, moving slowly over the straps of my bra.

"You can barely even see me," I respond, arching my back towards him, desperate to feel him closer.

"I see you, Bella. And I want to see more," he mutters, pushing the straps of my bra down my arms. I lean up and reach around, releasing the clasp. He tears it off me and moves down in the bed, taking one breast firmly into his mouth, his tongue flickering and teasing the nipple until I'm whimpering with need.

He nips and moves to my other breast, circling his tongue. I arch towards him, sinking my fingers into his hair. "Please, Edward," I breathe, my entire body on fire from him. He sits up and whisks his wet shirt off, a few droplets of water trickling down his chest. The lightening illuminates the room and he grins wickedly at me, descending to my jeans and gently tugging them down. He pays close attention to the prosthetic as he gingerly removes the jeans and my boy shorts, leaving them in a heap on the floor.

He stands and removes his jeans, along with his boxers, his breathing ragged as he stares down at me. He runs his hand over my prosthetic and stops at my thigh, raising his eyebrow questioningly. I'm momentarily stunned as I stare back at his perfectly naked body, which seems to almost glow while the lightening dances through the windows.

"Bella?" he whispers, his hand running from my thigh to the prosthetic while he silently asks what to do.

I shut my eyes, emotion overwhelming me. "On… for now," I manage.

He nods and slowly moves over me, his body covering mine, and I soak in the feeling of how we mold together. He's practically panting, leaning on his elbows, his hands caressing my hair, stroking it away from my face. He layers kisses on my forehead, my face, my neck, and then stretches his arm to the nightstand. He fumbles, knocking over whatever is on it in the dark, the rustling stopping with the sound of a drawer opening. His breathing elevates further in frustration while I hear him root around in the drawer.

"Hey," I whisper, cupping his cheek with my hand. "I'm protected. It's okay. I mean… if you're okay?"

"I've never… I've never done this without one," he says quietly.

"Me, either."

"So, we're kind of like virgins, then?" he asks playfully, his lips descending to my stomach, his tongue flattening over my navel.

I laugh and shake my head at him in the dark. "Yeah. Kind of."

He groans, sucking the skin at my hip into his mouth.

The storm rages outside, providing only flashes of light while he works me into a virtual frenzy, his tongue flattening over me, his fingers stretching and teasing, keeping me right on the edge of ecstasy. I lace my fingers back into his hair, twisting and pulling, urging him to take us both higher.

I can feel him hard and extremely ready as he grinds his hips against me, his hands slowly caressing my hip, my stomach, my thigh, wrapping around my waist, finding every curve and lingering as if he's trying to commit it to memory.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex and shiver under my fingertips. I run my palms down his back, over his hip, pressing him impossibly closer. "Bella…" My name falls from his lips over and over, his mouth moving from my center and back my stomach, the heat radiating between us, almost unbearable.

His mouth gingerly moves back to mine, his hand gliding down my thigh, under the knee on my real leg, coaxing it up. I wrap it around his hip, frantic to feel him, and he groans louder. He slides both hands under my ass and pulls us up and off the bed, turning my back to wall beside the window.

My arms encircle his shoulders, holding him to me while I keep my leg hitched around his waist. He bends his forehead to rest on mine, his breathing coming in gasps. "Bella," he whispers, his entire body tensed with exertion as he finally lifts up and slides into me.

The lightening crashes, the room engulfed in its sporadic pattern of light. "Oh, God," he mutters, sliding out and then firmly plunging in, filling me completely.

I press my fingers into his back, desperate to keep him close, needing to hold onto something, fearing he's going to stop. "Harder. Don't stop," I manage. He kisses me deeply, more forcefully as he starts a glorious, deep pace. I can feel his muscles strain. A thin sheen of sweat breaks across his skin while I cling to him, trying to meet his thrusts.

My thigh complains at the force, at the odd angle, but I can't bring myself to care. There is only Edward and pure desire. His head falls to my shoulder, his teeth nipping and biting while we continue to rock against the wall. "So perfect, baby. Holy fuck," he growls, flexing his hips harder, the new angle sending me flying. "Come on, baby. Let me feel you."

I feel the pressure build faster and more intensely as he slides in and out. My walls clench around him, the tension igniting us both, our ragged breathing mixing with the rain while it pounds on the window beside us.

"Edward…" I clench my eyes shut at the feeling, and fresh tears escape, the emotion overtaking me.

"Bella… I can't stop. I'm… mmm," he grunts, his fingers gripping my ass harder while he drives into me.

And then, sensation engulfs me while the tension finally releases again and again, and I explode around him. The room spins, the lightening and his relentless pace overwhelming while my tears fall harder. He moans, deep and throaty, and then stills his hips against mine, pulsating, and emptying inside me.

"Bella," he breaths, keeping his hands set firmly on my ass and stumbling back to the bed. He sinks down to it, holding me on top of him. He keeps us joined, his hands releasing their vice grip on my ass to start a slow and methodic trail up my back.

Our hearts hammer together, his beating just as fast as mine while my tears fall onto his chest. "Baby? Are you alright?" he asks gently.

I nod against his chest, my entire body feels weak, almost as if I'm floating. I feel the calm wash over me while he gingerly rolls me to the side and slips out of me. He groans and brushes my hair away from my face, his fingers lightly tracing the tears that continue to fall.

"Did I hurt you? Jesus, Bella. I'm sorry." His voice cracks, his head falling to my shoulder, his body shuddering against mine. "I'm so sorry," he repeats over and over while he kisses my shoulder, my arm, his hand trembling while it runs over my prosthetic.

I swallow loudly and find the ability to speak. "I'm not hurt, Edward. You could never hurt me," I firmly say, cupping his face between my hands.

"You're crying," he says, kissing my cheeks softly.

I sigh, holding him closer as the lights flicker while the power tries to come back on. "So are you," I say, running my thumb over the tiny tear falling from his clenched shut eyes.

"You're really okay?" he asks, his eyes still shut.

"Look at me," I urge, kissing his forehead. He opens his eyes, his expression anxious and needy. "I'm fine, alright? I'm just kind of overwhelmed right now."

"It was too much, right? I was too much…" he says, almost panic-stricken.

The lights decide to finally stay on and I hear the iPod hum to life in the studio below us. I place my hand over his at my thigh. "Hey. Stop it. You're not too much. You're perfect, and I like intense. It's very… Edward-like."

"Edward-like?" he asks, removing our hands from my thigh and lacing our fingers together.

"Yeah."

He kisses my forehead. "You are incredible," he whispers. "That was so… you're right… intense is the word." I laugh and try to shift away, wanting to get the nightly routine over with as quickly as possible. "Oh, you're not going anywhere. I want you right here." He pulls me gently back, draping my arm over his chest.

I kiss his neck and try to roll away, his grip tightening around my waist. "I need to get ready for bed," I murmur.

"Right. Fuck. I'm sorry." He sits up abruptly, practically bolting from the bed to get my bag that he dropped on the floor. He holds it up, a shy look on his face. "Your stuff," he says nervously.

I sit up and try to pull the comforter up around me. _Please don't get awkward now!_

"Do you not want me to stay? I mean, I don't have to… I just – " My words are obliterated while he propels himself to the side of the bed, crouching down in front of me and dropping my bag at his feet.

He releases my grip on the comforter, pulling it down, his hands gently rubbing my thighs. "I want you to stay. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life." His eyes search mine, so much passion and want for me. I feel the tears well up, again.

"Okay." My voice sounds so small in his huge room with the thunder rumbling as the storm starts to move. He stands and extends a hand to me, which I eagerly take. He picks up my bag with his other hand and strides purposefully towards a smaller door at the other end of the room, pulling me with him. I try not to snicker at the fact that we're both completely naked and neither one of us seem to care.

He stops at the door and turns back to me, his eyes wide. "This is the first time we're doing the routine at my place," he says in wonder.

"Yeah. It is." I never would have imagined that my daily prosthetic routine would produce an affect like this in me or anyone else. He pushes the door open and flips on a light switch, eagerly pulling me inside.

XXXXXX

A half an hour later, after I've convinced him it's probably not the best idea for us to have a bath during a lightening storm, the routine is finished and I'm losing the battle with staying awake. I tuck myself into his chest, under the expensive sheets on his enormous bed. I'm completely spent; emotionally and physically from the events of the day. To say it has been a monumental twelve hours is the understatement of the last five years.

He sighs and kisses the top of my head, his fingers lightly tracing circles on my shoulder underneath my t-shirt. "Bella?"

"Hmmm?" My eyes slide shut and I relish in the rhythm of his heart beat, the sound of the rain on the windows, the way my body warms next to his; complete and utter contentment.

"Thank you for today. For letting me be there with you on the mountain. For everything."

"I'm glad you were there, Edward." I kiss his chest and try to inch closer to him. "I'm glad I'm here now." A yawn escapes and he chuckles.

"Sleep, baby. I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs.

I wrap my arm around his waist and let sleep take me away.

XXXXXX

I wake up in Edward's bed, the sunlight almost blinding through the skylight and the bare windows beside the bed. I'm disoriented and panicked… he's not here. It's the first time I've woken up in someone else's bed in over five years. So many emotions course through me while I rub the sleep from my eyes. I had hoped to wake up to him beside me so we could enjoy the morning… in bed. I'm only just beginning to realize the depth of the feelings I have for Edward, only now starting to accept his attention, his affection, his unexplainable want for me.

In such a sort amount of time, he's become so important – not in a needy way, rather Edward seems to be a completion of me, opening my eyes to new possibilities, new ways of looking at this. I feel content, like I finally can be accepted for who I am as unfathomable as that seemed to me less than three weeks ago.

Three weeks. It seems like much longer. It feels like I've known Edward forever, and at the same time, like I could know him forever and still be uncovering new facets of his personality.

Where is he? I prop myself up on my elbows and scan the room. I wouldn't be surprised to see him sitting watching me, painting me from across the room. I flush, thinking about how erotic the painting session for the auction was and how I'd like to do that again, soon.

I glance at the empty spot beside me and see a note sitting on the pillow.

_Bella,_

_Gone to get coffee and bagels. _

_I only have instant shit, and you deserve better._

_Be back soon. _

_Miss me…_

_X -Edward_

I smile, my momentary panic erased. I whip the covers off and swing myself to the edge of the bed, searching for my prosthetic. I smile, remembering it's in Edward's bathroom, on the intricate drying rack he's had his artist friend make solely for me. I push up off the bed and take a hop towards the bathroom.

The sound of the front door firmly shutting downstairs stops my progress, and I quickly sit back onto the edge of the bed. Hmm, Monday morning bagels and coffee in bed with Edward sounds heavenly. So I wait for him, leaning back on my elbows, trying to look inviting.

I hear his footfalls ascend quickly on the stairs. He sounds hurried and rushed. He stops at his studio, and I imagine that he's probably checking on his creation from last night, or, maybe cleaning up the mess. So beautiful, so talented, I am in awe of him. To watch him in his element, to be there when he creates something from nothing, it's overwhelming. So much passion and concentration, I feel the anticipation light from deep inside, my heart beating faster while I wait.

I'm ready to give myself over to these feelings. I'm ready to explore them, to have him explore me. The fire that's been flickering, now rages, out of control, and I don't want it to stop. Five years of waiting, of being rejected, of being made to feel inferior, different, not good enough. And still, I can't be angry about the last five years. They have led me to Edward. They have made me who I am, a stronger person than the one that rode the chair lift at the mountain five years ago.

Movement echoes up to me from the studio, a faint scrapping. Is he moving the ladder in the studio? Maybe he's painting again. I've learned quickly that Edward's impulses to create can't be anticipated; they just come, and he's helpless to stop them. It's quiet for a few minutes, and I wonder what he's painting. I resist the urge to disturb him. He's so particular about his work, and while he wanted me with him last night while he painted, who knows if that's true today?

As the minutes pass, I become more and more anxious. Why hasn't he checked on me? It doesn't seem like him, but then, I know I can't ever anticipate what Edward is going to do. Finally, there is rustling from the studio, like he's moving things around. I hear him descend slowly back down the stairs and then I hear the door open again.

What? Wait. Where is he going? "Edward?" I call out to him, hoping that he hears me from the first floor. There's a pause and then the door shuts, followed by silence. I smile and wait, hearing him climb more slowly. A slow creaking in the hallway signals his arrival to the loft.

I keep my eyes fixed on the doorway and see the shadow move towards the room. My heart stops beating as the shadow leans against the door frame and then realization hits me. I feel the colour drain from my face as my heart stops beating entirely.

I have no where to run…if I even could. I try to pull the covers around me and simply pray. Pray that Edward returns before it's too late. Pray that I can fight. Pray that maybe this is some sort of twisted nightmare.

Our eyes lock and I stare back at a sinister smirk that sends a shiver through my body. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Chapter End Notes:

Oh no.

Twitter: CarLemon


	30. Chapter 30

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. September 2010.

Many thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who also created the banner. Check out her new fic: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO hun!

Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thank you so much.

A million thanks to MizzezPattinson who provided much needed insight on hospital protocol and medical procedures. She's a wealth of knowledge and in her abundance of spare time (*snorts*) she also pre-read this chapter for me. XO BB. I don't know what I'd do without you.

Thanks to all reading and reviewing. I'm intrigued at your theories. Let's see who's right. Come, join me…

EPOV

Chapter 30

I can't fucking wrap my head around the emotion of waking up next to Bella in my bed. Last night, having her watch me, seeing me as I create for her, because of her, it's fucking overwhelming. She stayed… all night. Bella in my bed… my dick twitches as she sighs, hopefully, in contentment beside me.

I take her in while she breathes deeply, her hair splayed on the pillow, a faint blush to her cheeks, her lips slightly parted and just begging me to claim them. Her tiny body, curled towards me, her hand flat against my chest. Just a sliver of her stomach exposed in between her t-shirt and her pajama pants. Jesus Christ, I am so royally fucked. This has grown so fast. My feelings for her are out of control, bordering on obsessive, deeper than anything I've ever experienced.

I don't want to hurt her and I have no idea how to do this without hurting her – physically, emotionally. I'm a virtual train wreck… unable to think about anyone but myself until her, fucking up every single thing in my life until she changed it. What if I fuck this up, too? What if I'm not enough for her?

She shifts closer to me and I harden further. I want her so badly, but I also don't want to screw this up. Last night was so intense, for both of us, and I don't want to assume that she's ready to do it again, even though I clearly am.

So, I slip reluctantly out from under her hand, my entire body cursing at me while she moans, and I leave her. I splash water on my face in the bathroom and descend down to the kitchen to search out some breakfast… something, anything to get myself under control. I need to paint, but she'll be hungry when she gets up and will probably want coffee. I decide to make a Tim Horton's run, which should give me time to tame my out of control hard on.

I write her a note, leaving it on the pillow, kissing her forehead softly before tearing myself away. I welcome the cool morning air; Vancouver just waking up on a typical Monday morning. I decide to walk to Tim's. It's only a couple of blocks, and quiet honestly, I need to clear my head and calm my dick. I try to remember the last time I felt this way, and if I'm being honest, I don't know if I ever have. When I think back to the time I've wasted, to the random fucks that meant nothing, my life has been so incredibly pathetic. But then, it did bring me to Bella, and I guess in some fucked up way, that's the way my life had to be to bring me to her.

Of course, the line is massive at Tim's. The place is a license to print money. Caffeine-addicted. early morning coffee lovers, just craving their fix, while mine lies in my bed, peaceful and dreaming.

The line shuffles forward, and I glance up at the board, having literally no idea what she would want. How does she take her coffee? Does she even drink coffee? Maybe a tea would be better. A familiar voice breaks my contemplation of the coffee-slash-tea dilemma.

"Edward!" I turn my head to see Angela with her large double-double decaf, moving away from the register and looking extremely happy to see me.

"Hey, Angela. How are you?" I ask, while she wraps her free arm around my neck, giving me an awkward hug and squeezing me a little too tightly.

She pulls back and stares up at me. "I'm good. It's good to see you. I've been meaning to call and thank you. Jessica filled me in. I don't remember anything about that night," she admits, all flustered.

"It's okay. I'm glad you got home alright. You were pretty hammered."

"I don't even want to know what I said to you. It was probably brutal," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Don't worry about it. What are you doing down here?" I ask.

"Oh, one of the professors is taking a bunch of us on a cruise," she explains. I nod while the line shuffles forward, an awkward silence falling between us. She clears her throat and blinks up at me. "Hey, maybe I can take you out to dinner. You know, to thank you." Oh fuck.

"You don't need to do that," I say firmly.

She licks her bottom lip. "Maybe I want to," she says suggestively, getting that look that she used to when...

"I'm seeing someone," I blurt out. An asshole move to do in the middle of Tim Horton's, but the last thing I want to do is lead her on. There is not a chance in hell that I'm even remotely interested in Angela anymore.

"Oh." Her face falls and she takes a step back. "I didn't realize… well, okay," she stammers. "I guess I'll see you around."

Before I even get a chance to respond, she's pushing her way through the crowd and out the door. I turn my attention back to the line, wishing now I had taken the car so I could use the drive through.

When I finally get to the counter, I order coffee and a tea, along with an assortment of bagels and cream cheese. I start back to the loft, savouring the caffeine as it flows through my veins, and looking forward to finding out all the little things that make Bella who she is-her favourite food, what kind of music she listens to, and things that piss her off. I want to know all of it.

I pick up my pace as I near the loft, hoping that she's still asleep. I hope we can share a little breakfast in bed and, hopefully, the rest of the morning. Last night was so fucking amazing. I have never experienced anything so intense in my life and I want more. I need to get home, now. Home, with Bella. The words fit together, inexplicably somehow, and I wonder if one day… My errant thought is obliterated as I reach the door to the loft and my eyes fall to the dark blue car parked down the street.

What the fuck? My mind flashes back to the parking lot and panic sets in. I whip the door open, my heart hammering against my chest. I fucking left the door unlocked. What the hell is wrong with me? And what the fuck is that smell? Smoke?

I drop the coffee and the bagels to the floor and take the stairs, two at a time. "You're pathetic. How have _you _even managed to get into his bed?" The unmistakable sound of Jane's voice drifts down to me, sounding eerily calm.

"Bella!" I scream, my feet flying past the studio and up the next flight of stairs. I just barely register the fact that smell of smoke is stronger on the second floor.

"You'll never be enough for him." I come to a stop at the doorway and see Bella, her back against the wall, her eyes locked to Jane, the cordless phone from the nightstand firmly against her ear. Jane stands motionless, her eyes wide and void of emotion as if she's in some comatose state.

"Jane." I can barely hear my own voice.

There is no response. Jane simply turns her head slowly to me and cocks it to the side. "We could have been so good together, Edward. Why can't you see that?" she asks me calmly.

"We _were _good together," I lie to her while my heart pounds faster. I see Bella slowly trying to hop towards the bathroom behind Jane, whispering into the phone, her eyes not full of fear, but of sadness, as if she feels genuinely sorry for her.

"We still can be, Edward," Jane says, closing the distance between us. She runs her hands up my chest. "I know you love me." Her voice is merely a whisper while she keeps her vacant eyes locked to mine. I stare back into madness, wondering how I couldn't have seen this. How I brushed her constant advances off as just Jane, being her usual aggressive and overbearing self.

"Tell me you love me," she demands, her voice monotone. My eyes flicker from hers to the bathroom where Bella is sitting on the edge of the tub, slipping on her prosthetic while she cradles the phone between her shoulder and her ear.

Jane's expression shifts instantly, her eyes narrow and she whips her head towards the bathroom. She turns back to me, her eyes dark. "She's just a distraction. I've had my own. But, its time for her to go, and then, we can be together."

My throat goes dry as the smoke starts to drift up into the bedroom. "Let's go downstairs, where we can talk," I manage, placing my hand over hers.

She stares down at my hand and then looks back up at me. "Downstairs?" Holy fuck, she's completely gone. Totally lost in whatever insane fantasy she's had brewing in her head for God only knows how long. While our eyes lock, I hear the faint sound of a siren in the distance. Jane, however, registers nothing, but me.

"Yeah, downstairs. We can sit and talk," I offer weakly, pulling her towards the door where the smoke is starting to thicken. I feel like I'm going to vomit. I look back at the doorway to the bathroom where Bella is standing, watching, her eyes pained, silent tears streaming down her face. She covers her mouth with her hand and waits, the phone dangling from her free hand.

The sirens get closer, the smoke licks its way slowly into the room, and Bella's eyes widen. "Talk?" Jane asks blankly.

I snap my eyes back to Jane and gently pull her out of the bedroom. "Yes. Talk. Come on," I urge, slowly guiding her down the smoke-filled stairs.

Her body goes rigid as we reach the second floor and the studio. "See, Edward? You have to stay with me, now. You have more painting to do," she says calmly, turning her head slowly to the open door.

Panic spikes as I peer in and see my desk, the paints, the chair Bella sat in last night, catch fire while smoke engulfs the room. "We need to get out, Jane. Come on," I say firmly, tightening my grip around her waist and pulling her down the stairs.

The sirens continue to wail outside, and I see a fire truck and a few police cars stopped in front of the open door. There is loud shouting and a flurry of activity as the apartment is invaded by police and fire crew, clamoring through the foyer and up the stairs.

"Edward Cullen?" one of the officers asks while Jane stands motionless beside me. I nod my head and her grip tightens around me.

"Don't let them take me, Edward," she says, her voice rising, her eyes pleading with me, and for a moment, I actually feel sorry for her. I take a step away from her while two officers approach her as if she's some wild animal they know they have to tame.

Jane lunges back to me, her hands clawing at my arms, trying desperately to hang on to me. "We just want to talk to you, Miss," one of the officers says while the other inches closer.

"Edward! Make them stop! They're trying to keep us apart!" she screams, her arms flailing, her eyes wild as the officer pulls her away from me, his words lost to her ear-piercing voice. "We're meant to be together, Edward! We're supposed to be together!" She struggles tirelessly, her legs kicking while the officer hauls her towards the door.

I move to the stairs, my only thought of Bella, and getting her out of here. I'm immediately stopped by the iron grip of another police officer holding me back. "Bella!" I scream. "She's upstairs! In the bedroom! Get the fuck off me!" I fight against the cop's hold on me while Jane continues to scream incoherently in front of the open door.

"You need to calm down, and we need to get you out of here, Mr. Cullen," the officer says firmly.

I struggle against his grasp. "Do not fucking tell me to calm down! I'm not going without her!"

"We've got her. There are three of them up there. She'll be fine." I twist against him and he tightens his grip around my arm, bringing it behind my back.

"There's no one in the bedroom," a male voice calls from up the stairs.

Fucking hell! "The studio. Check the studio!" What the fuck is she doing in the studio? Adrenaline wins the battle with the cop, and I break from his grip, bolting up the stairs to the second floor.

The smoke is thicker in the room than it was, and it immediately overwhelms me. The studio is coated in a grey and dense fog, the fire contained, it seems, to the desk as I try to squint through the cloud of smoke to find her. The smoke is overpowering, my lungs filling quickly.

Firefighters push their way past me, towards the covered canvasses and disappear into the haze. "Bella!" Jesus Christ, if something has happened to her… I can't even finish the thought. It's beyond comprehension.

My breathing starts to come in gasps, my lungs heave under the exertion of the smoke that is invading them. I start to cough, automatically bringing my arm to cover my mouth, as if that's going to help me.

My eyes sting and I try to hold my breath while I stumble in the direction of the canvasses. My vision blurs, my lungs feel like they are going to burst as I take a desperate breath in and collapse to the floor. I don't know how long I lay there, inching forward, each breath becoming increasingly laboured before I feel, rather than see, strong arms wrap around my shoulders, and drag me out of the studio. They are unrelenting as they haul my downstairs and, unwillingly, out the open front door.

My mind drifts, engulfed in a cottony haze as my lungs explode into the fresh Vancouver morning air. I gasp to inhale it, my eyes burning, the wheezing out of control. The ground spins towards me and I strain my neck towards the door while they hoist me onto a gurney away from the building and pin me down.

I'm disoriented… lights flash, vibrant red and blue… echoed voices barking orders… the muffled sounds of more sirens while I drift on the edge of consciousness. A blur of uniformed bodies… a hose snaking its way into the apartment. I try to croak out her name, my throat straining as a clear plastic mask covers my nose and mouth, effectively drowning out my cries.

The oxygen flows freely, my lungs crying out for more. The sirens silence, and then, the blackness takes me.

XXXXX

I win the battle with my eyelids that I've been fighting for the last several minutes, and I finally force them open. The fluorescent light that I've heard buzzing above me is practically blinding. My throat feels like it's on fire and I hear my breathing elevate through the stupid mask that is secured over my nose.

"Edward?"

I squint towards the voice. "Carlisle?" My voice is hoarse and I start to cough while I try to focus in his direction. He finally comes into view, the worry lines on his forehead more pronounced than I remember them. He lowers his head to my hand and then lifts it back to me, his expression pained and worried.

"Edward, I'm here." He squeezes my hand tightly while I blink back at him.

"Carlisle?" What the hell is he doing here? And why does my voice sound so fucking horrible?

"Go get the doctor, Carlisle, I'll stay here." The voice is soothing and reminds me of Mom. I turn my head and focus on Esme, who is holding my other hand and watching some machine beside the bed. "Go!" she orders.

Carlisle gets up from the chair he's on and disappears from my view.

"Bella," I manage, my throat burning.

Esme holds a light blue plastic cup with a straw towards me and lifts my mask from my face. "Drink," she orders.

The water feels like acid going down my throat, but I drink it all, desperate for anything to make the ache go away.

She replaces the mask and I fumble to try to get it off. "Bella." I try to sound forceful, but my voice is raspy and hoarse. Esme squeezes my hand and sits on the bed beside me. I feel somewhat calmer as the bed creaks and she smoothes my hair back.

"Shhh. You'll hurt your throat more."

I try to shake my head at her. "Need to… have to see her," I choke. Why am I so fucking dizzy? I feel like I'm on something.

"You will. But you need to rest."

"No. Bella," I complain, trying to sit up, which is pointless. It's like my muscles have become detached from my body.

Esme eases me back down and shakes her head at me. "You're just as stubborn as your father," she scolds. "When he was in the hospital, he wouldn't listen to me at first, either." She smiles at whatever memory they have shared and then focuses back on me.

"Bella? How is she?" I manage, shutting my eyes, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Esme sighs and squeezes my hand tighter. "She's in the burn unit. She'll be alright, Edward."

The panic eases slightly and I take another laboured breath. "How are you here?" I rasp.

"We stopped by your apartment on the way back from our weekend at Whistler. We thought, maybe, we'd take you to breakfast," she explains. "The street was blocked off. Your father about had a heart attack when we walked down and saw all the fire trucks in front of your building." She shuts her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. "He pulled the lawyer card and talked to the police. If anyone asks, he's representing you now."

"Jane?" I ask, the pain spiking in my chest while my lungs work overtime it seems to allow me to breathe.

"She's in custody. They'll be doing a psychiatric assessment. That's all I really know."

I hear the door to the room open, and then see Carlisle at the side of the bed along with a young doctor. "Welcome back, Mr. Cullen. I'm Dr. Yorkie," he says. He doesn't look old enough to be a doctor. He studies the chart in front of him and then looks at the machine beside the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," I mutter. _How the fuck do you think I feel_?

Carlisle chuckles and I see the light return to his eyes while he stares across the bed at Esme. The doctor smirks and nods his head. "I'd like to keep you on the oxygen mask for a bit longer and do a chest x-ray, some more blood work, and we'll go from there."

"Bella. I want to see her," I choke.

He nods his head. "Miss Swan? Yes. She's being treated in the burn unit. Her mother is with her," he says coldly while he studies whatever is on the clipboard in front of him. _Stupid fucking doctors._

"I need to see her," I complain, my breathing hitching.

"Not right now, Mr. Cullen. She's resting, and that's what you need to do, too. You're both extremely lucky. This could have been a lot worse."

"I need to see her," I repeat, my heart hammering that this fucking kid is keeping me from the only thing that really matters to me.

He shakes his head at me. "Mr. Cullen, for the next day or so, you're going to have shortness of breath and headaches. Your throat will probably feel like it's on fire for quite a while. Your lungs may be scarred and your trachea could be damaged from the smoke inhalation. Those are both things that can take up to twenty-four hours to develop. You are in no condition to get up and go see anyone, especially Miss Swan," he says firmly. My heart plummets. It must be bad. She's worse off than I am.

"Please," I beg. "I have to see her."

The doctor looks between Carlisle and Esme and then back to me. "Let me do the x-ray first and see what we're dealing with. If that's clear, you can see her. But you'll be doing it in a wheelchair and only for a few minutes, understood?" he asks. Figures I would get stuck with fucking Doogie Howser with an attitude for a doctor.

XXXXXX

God knows how many fucking hours later; I've endured the X-ray technician from hell and am wheeled back to my room where Carlisle and Esme are eagerly waiting. I fucking hate hospitals, I've decided. This is testing my fucking patience. The wait is agonizing; the fucking ticking on the stupid clock on the generic beige wall is driving me right to the edge. Stupid fucking beige. I'll never use that Goddamn colour again.

"I need to see her," I say to them, breaking the silence and trying desperately to make my voice sound normal.

"You have to wait, Edward," Carlisle says sympathetically. "The doctor said –"

"I don't give a flying fuck…" My voice trails and the coughing begins. Esme is right there, trying to calm me while I feel the tears well up uncontrollably. "Please, Dad," I whisper, staring up at him.

He nods his head, overcome with emotion at my desperation, and disappears out of the room. "You love her," Esme whispers, her eyes brimming with tears.

I squeeze her hand back. "And you love him." She nods her head at me, and we wait.

XXXXXX

Doogie has decided that the oxygen mask can come off. Thank fuck for that. My lungs are also clear, whatever the fuck that means. I don't even care. All I care about is Bella and the precious "few minutes" I've been allotted to see her.

Renee practically launches herself down the hall while Carlisle wheels me down it in the wheelchair Dr. Wonderkid has insisted I take. She looks pale, her brown curly hair is a complete disaster, but her smile lights up the dreary hallway.

Carlisle brings the chair to a stop and she squats down in front of me, hugging me tightly. She then pulls some mystery vile out of the pocket on her skirt, and douses me with whatever substance is in it. Esme shoots Carlisle a questioning look while Renee runs her hands from my head to my feet, takes a deep cleansing breath, and then stands.

"Ah, Renee, Phil, this is my father, Carlisle, and his girlfriend, Esme," I say, amazed at how exhausted speaking just one sentence makes me.

Renee sizes up Carlisle, narrowing her eyes. She takes his hand and turns it over, palm up, running her fingers over it. "Hmm. There's a lot of you in your son, Carlisle. You're a good man. I'm glad to see you've found peace with the universe," she says, nodding her head.

Carlisle looks at Renee like she's on crack. She doesn't skip a beat, turning to Esme and studying her palm closely. Renee smiles and then, hugs Esme tightly. "You're a wonderful match for him," she says softly while Esme tries to digest what she's saying. Renee rubs her hands together quickly and then looks back down at me. "Where is your room, Edward? I need to perform some cleansing rituals."

"Cleansing rituals?" Esme questions warily. "I'm pretty sure that's against hospital policy."

"I won't tell anyone, if you won't." Renee winks at Esme and then hooks her arm around Esme's waist.

Enough with the fucking new age cleansing crap. I strain my neck to see into the room and try to wheel myself towards it. "Bella's going to be fine, Edward. She's got a strong will, that girl. Just like her father; stubborn and determined. Just be gentle with her," Renee advises. "She'll heal, but it will take time." She knocks on the window and Doogie raises his head, motioning for us to come in.

Carlisle wheels me in, the blood pumping faster through my veins already as I take her in. Her tiny frame tucked under the crisp, white sheet, some tube sticking out of her mouth, the beeping sound almost deafening in the sterile room.

I practically launch myself from the wheelchair and onto to the bed, bracing my arms on the side before I fall on the floor. I sit down gingerly, completely and totally out of breath. "What the fuck is all this?" I manage to rasp. There are so many tubes and wires. Why the fuck is she hooked up to all this? I feel my heart race while I lace my fingers through hers. They're limp and lifeless. The panic rises.

"Well, we gave her an endotracheal intubation," the doctor explains in his practiced clinical voice. "And she's on a healthy does of albuterol."

"In fucking English!" I grind out while I grip her tiny hand for dear life... my lifeline.

"It's all to keep her airway open, to help her breathe easier," he explains calmly, as if this is all fucking normal.

"Why can't you just fucking say that, then?" I bark at him.

"Edward!" Phil's voice booms in the room while he glares at me.

"Phil, it's alright," Renee says gently. "He's under just as much stress as you are." She turns her attention back to Esme. "Let's you and I share a little girl talk." Esme looks slightly terrified, but really, she has no choice. Renee pulls her and Phil out of the room and down the hall.

"You've got five minutes," Doogie says firmly.

"I'll be right outside, Edward," Carlisle says, cupping my shoulder and then leaving me alone with her.

The door shuts and I bring her hand to my lips. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

My voice cracks and she stirs, the machine beeping faster beside her. "Bella? Please, baby. Wake up. They're not going to let me stay here long." I stare down at her, my heart breaking as I take in her faintly singed eyebrows, the dryness around her lips, the fucking tube that's been shoved down her throat. I swallow loudly and the tears blur my vision. "Bella…" I rub circles on her hand over and over, kissing her palm, wishing I could turn back the fucking clock.

Five minutes is over way to fucking fast. It takes Doogie, Carlisle and Phil to drag me away from her.

XXXXXX

"Dude?" Emmett's voice and his rough hand on my shoulder jostle me, waking me quickly. "You awake?"

"I am now." I take a deep breath in… It feels like there's a twenty pound weight on my chest, but doesn't hurt as much as it did earlier. "How's Bella?" I ask. My throat is dry, and I could use a drink. Preferably a Jack and Coke. The thought alone burns my throat… okay, maybe water, followed by a Jack and Coke, or three.

He pulls the chair beside the bed and sits down, leaning back and looking stressed out. "They took the tube thing out an hour ago. She's got some oxygen mask on. Rose is with her," he says. "She's not awake yet, but she will be, soon, so that kid doctor says, anyway." He shakes his head at me. "You look like shit."

I run my hand through my crazed hair and over the stubble on my face while I glance out the window and into the pitch black night. What the fuck? "What time is it?" How the fuck long have I been asleep?

"It's two in the morning, man."

Two in the morning? I've been asleep for fucking hours. "I want to see her," I say, pushing myself up in the bed.

"What the fuck happened, Edward? Your dad has been talking to us, checking on Bella, but he doesn't even really know who this Jane psycho case is," he says.

"He wouldn't know. He's been out of my life until a few weeks ago. Jane is my… well, she _was_ my art dealer."

"And so, what? She's obsessed with you or something? That's fucked up, Edward."

"You don't fucking think I know that, Emmett?"

"Bella could have been killed. _You_ could have been killed. And your paintings…" His voice trails while he stares at me.

"I don't give a shit about my paintings. I can paint more." I move my legs to the side of the bed. "I want to see her. Can you help me?"

He looks at me cautiously. "I don't think I'm supposed to—"

"I'm going with or without your help. Come on, you like to live on the edge. When was the last time you broke some rules?" I ask, knowing I need the help.

He smirks and lifts his eyebrows to me, looking between the door and me. He gets up and inches open the door, peering out into the hallway. I'm sure he's got the _Mission Impossible _theme playing in his head. He closes the door and moves back to the bed. "The nurse's station is way down the hall. I think I can sneak you out. Can you walk?" he whispers.

"Yeah, but it'll be faster in the chair," I nod my head to the wheelchair beside the door.

His smile widens and he quickly wheels it over to the bed. "I can lift you," he suggests.

"I'm sure I'll be alright," I say, slipping off the bed and down into the chair, my breathing deeper already.

He backs the chair out of the room, and then, we are practically flying down the hall, away from the vacant nurse's station, and towards the elevators. He laughs and presses the up arrow repeatedly, until the elevator arrives and opens. He pushes me in quickly, presses number eight, and the doors close behind us.

He bursts out laughing and holds up his hand for a high-five. "Thanks, man," I say, my laughter turning quickly into a mini coughing fit.

The elevator stops and opens, Emmett peering into the hallway before he wheels me out and down the hall. He stops in front of her door while my heart hammers against my chest. The anticipation of seeing her overpowers everything else as I launch myself from the chair and push open the door forcefully.

Rose's head snaps up and she glares at me. "Nice of you drop by, Cullen," she says dryly. "You look like shit."

"That's what I told him, babe," Emmett says, joining her at the bed.

"Is he even supposed to be up?" Rose hisses, but I don't care. All I can see, all I want to be is next to her. I take a shaky step to the bed and sit on the edge, taking her hand in mine, my eyes sliding shut with the feel of her skin next to mine again.

"She hasn't woken up?" I ask.

"Not yet," Rose says softly. "She's strong, Edward." I feel Rose's hand on my shoulder and I slump forward, emotion quickly overtaking me.

"We'll keep watch outside, dude," Emmett says quietly. I nod my head and wait for the door to shut before I lose it completely. I can't stop the tears… How close I came to almost losing her comes crashing down as I squeeze her hand and soak her in. There are wayward strands of hair lightly drifting over her cheeks, her breath against the plastic mask, her chest rising and falling deeply while her lungs try to heal.

"Bella," I whisper, brushing her hair back from her face.

I feel her fingers twitch against mine and my heart explodes. "You can hear me. I know it's hard, baby. It hurts like a fucking bitch to open your eyes."

"Mmm… Ewar…"

I shift closer, kissing her hand. "I'm here, Bella."

She squints and winces, her breathing loud and laboured. "Edwa…"

"Don't talk, okay? Just open your eyes."

Her eyes clench and flutter, and then, they open, wide and red-rimmed. "Edward," she chokes, squeezing my hand tighter.

"I'm here, baby. I'm so sorry, Bella." I kiss her forehead, my fingers running over the tender skin on her cheeks.

"Don't be sorry," she whispers. "Not your fault…"

"This is entirely _my_ fucking fault, Bella."

She shakes her head at me in annoyance. "Jane?" she asks, her voice straining.

"They're giving her some psych assessment. She's not going to hurt you again, I promise."

She takes a shaky breath in, tightening her eyes at the pain. "Your paintings? The studio?" she manages.

"What were you doing in there, Bella? What were you thinking?"

She gasps for air and then fumbles at the mask. I gently move her fingers and lift it from her face. "I was trying… trying to save them. They're everything to you. They're your life," she rasps.

I feel more tears prick my eyes and roll down my face. I cup her cheek and stare back at her, at the only thing that really matters. "_You_ are my life."

Chapter End Notes:

Up next, BPOV

Let me know what you're thinking.

Twitter: CarLemon


	31. Chapter 31

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. October 2010.

Many thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who also created the banner. Check out her new fic: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO hun!

Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thank you so much.

A million thanks to MizzezPattinson whose hospital insights are wonderful, and who also took the time out of her hectic schedule to pre-read this chapter for me. Much love, hun. I don't know what I'd do without you.

Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Let's see how Bella's doing.

Chapter 31

BPOV

"But, you were almost done," I choke out, feeling the tears escaping. Tears of pain for his work that is now probably destroyed, but mostly, tears of joy that he's alright. My chest heaves and my lungs cry out, making it impossible for me to launch myself at him, which is really all I want to do. I just want to hold onto him and never let him go. He's okay… he's safe, and I feel the relief course through me as he squeezes my hand.

"I can paint more. It doesn't matter. You're the only thing that matters to me. I can replace a stupid painting. I can't replace you," he whispers, his eyes searching mine, his voice sounding raspy and throaty.

"Edward," I manage. "I was…" I gulp desperately for air "…so scared." I try to sit up, but that appears to be an impossible task right now. I feel like I've run 60K with a forty pound weight strapped to my chest.

"I know you were, baby. You never have to be scared again. I'm going to make sure she can't hurt you anymore."

I shake my head at him while I try to take in enough air to form a sentence. "Not for me. For you. I didn't… I didn't know what…" I gasp and choke, my hand automatically flying to my throat as the scorching sensation starts to take over. "Edwar…"

Edward fumbles around in the bed, finding a cord and pressing a button on the end of it while I continue to wheeze. "Shhh. It's okay. I'm alright. You can't get yourself worked up. Try to relax." He runs his hand up my arm, his expression pained. "Where the fuck is the nurse?" He whips his head to the door while I try to breathe. "Emmett!" He's trying to yell, but his voice is laboured. He gets up off the bed and makes his way on shaky legs to the door just as Emmett bursts through it. "Get the nurse," Edward barks.

Emmett nods his head and disappears back out the door as Rose barrels her way past Edward and sits on the bed beside me. "Welcome back," she says softly, smiling down at me. Her presence calms me slightly, though breathing is still an effort. Her eyes lock to mine while she wordlessly gives me strength, much like she did on the mountain. "You know, you interrupted a perfectly good make out session I had going on in the waiting area with Emmett."

My breathing comes faster as I try to laugh. Only Rose would try to make jokes like that at a time like this. She squeezes my hand tighter, and my head sinks back further into the pillow while we wait.

XXXXXX

After Edward is forcibly removed from the room, kicking and wheezing, the nurses and the doctor are able to do an examination. They drone on about wanting to keep me on the oxygen mask for a bit longer... that it's pumping Ventolin into my system that will help with my breathing. I'm not a fan of the mask, but I also realize, given the circumstances, that I should be grateful this is all I have to endure.

They let me know that there doesn't appear to be any damage to my residual limb, and tell me that as soon as the mask is off, I need to get up and start moving. My throat feels like it's on fire, a raw, dry, burning sensation that needs to come to an end, and I simply can't imagine getting up and moving right now.

"Any questions, Miss Swan?" Dr. Yorkie asks.

"Edward?" The nurses and the doctor exchange questioning looks. "I need him." The enormity of those three little words isn't lost on me. I do need Edward. More than I've needed anyone in a long time, and not because I feel helpless or weak, but because he's become a part of me. All these years of waiting and hoping for something that I was starting to think didn't actually exist… for the dream we all have, to find the one who makes you a better person, who challenges you and tests you, and makes you want more.

Emotion overtakes me again and my breathing labours. More tears fall as realization hits me. I'm in love with him.

XXXXXX

I've decided I hate the sound of breathing. I've heard every single breath I've made since I woke up hours ago, thanks to the oxygen mask that I'd like to hurl across the room right now.

As I lie awake, unable to sleep without Edward, who has been banished back to his room by the evil nurses, I smile at the quirky additions Renee has made to the room. I recognize most of them immediately, having seen them for months after the skiing accident.

There are crystal healing stones lined up in a circular pattern to bring wellness, and the familiar scent of lavender emanating from the little wooden dish on the table beside the bed. She's even got the CD player plugged in and ready, I'm sure with some new age sounds of nature designed to heal me faster. I try to laugh, but succumb quickly to another round of wheezing.

As the wheezing subsides, Emmett pushes the door to the room open, wheeling Edward in. He looks more stressed out than he did earlier, if that's possible. The dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced, and his hair is just… there are no words. "Can I stay?" he asks shyly, staring at me hopefully from the wheelchair.

I nod my head and Emmett helps him move from the chair to the bed. "Thanks, Em," I rasp. He smirks at me and nods his head, leaving us quietly.

Edward grips my hand for dear life and clenches his eyes shut. "I know I shouldn't be in here, but…" His words trail while he watches me struggle to sit up in the bed. He wraps one arm around my waist and lifts me. I lean against his shoulder and cup his cheek with my hand, my entire body aching to feel him next to me. The warmth from his skin is better than any prescription they could ever give me.

"No, you _should_ be here." He smiles and gently coaxes me back down to the bed. "Lie with me," I murmur, trying to inch over to give him room; that little movement proving to be extremely difficult.

Once I'm situated, he stretches his long legs out beside me and turns on his side to face me. He smoothes back my hair and kisses the top of my head while I feel fatigue start to take over. "Bella?"

"Mmmhmm." My eyes slide shut while I hang onto his hospital gown for dear life and try to breathe him in. He smells different… lingering smoke and sterile hospital disinfectant mixed with Mom's lavender concoction, but its still Edward, and I'll gladly take him any way I can.

I don't hear what he says as exhaustion takes me.

XXXXXX

A hushed voice swirls around me as I slowly wake, my breathing quickening while I reach for Edward, only to find a hot and extremely empty hospital sheet beside me. "Edward?" I try to push up from the bed and am immediately engulfed by familiar bulging biceps. My eyes flutter open to Jake's familiar smirk. "Jake?"

"If you wanted to spend more time with me, Bella, all you had to do was ask," he says sarcastically, easing me up to sit. He sighs deeply and his smile fades while he gently brushes my hair behind my shoulder. "You sure know how to scare the living hell of people. Always one for the dramatics."

"Sorry," I croak out.

"Sure, sure. Looks like you and I have some quality physio time ahead of us," he says, gently pulling the sheet down and looking at my leg intently. "Can I?"

"Since when did you start asking?"

He huffs and gently starts the comforting massage on my thigh, moving lightly to the end of the stump, his brow furrowed while he studies it intently. "There's some redness here, probably just from lack of it being cleaned properly last night." He shakes his head and mutters under his breath, his strong fingers working in circles. An awkward silence drifts between us, mixing with my ever present Darth Vader like breathing. "Is he worth it?" he asks finally. He stops his movements and stares at me critically.

"It's not his fault, Jake."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Yeah, Bella. It _is_ his fault. You could have been killed," he states firmly.

"I could be killed crossing the street, or in my car, or doing a million different things," I argue. The last thing I need right now is for Jake to be judgmental.

"God, you're stubborn."

I laugh and cough. "Right back at you."

He snorts and pats my thigh, covering it back up with the sheet. "It'll be fine. Once they take the oxygen mask off today, they want you to get up and get moving. Guess what that means?" he asks, smiling wickedly at me.

"Quality physio time?"

He nods his head. "I'm going to expect you to keep up with me, Swan. Think you can handle that?" he asks cockily, lifting his eyebrows to me.

"Keeping up with you has never been a problem before."

He laughs loudly and squeezes my shoulder as the door to the room opens. I crane my head around Jake's massive frame and see Edward, standing in the doorway. He's glaring at Jake, his jaw set, his chest rising and falling quickly. "What the fuck are you doing?" Edward seethes.

Jake stands and crosses the room to him. "Relax, asshole. I'm her physiotherapist, remember?"

"I don't give a shit. You keep your fucking hands to yourself."

"Hey, she wouldn't be in here if it wasn't for you!" Jake fires back at him.

"Stop… please," I rasp, my lungs complaining.

"If I wanted your fucking opinion, I would have asked for it," Edward counters while they stand chest to chest in some ridiculous macho stare down.

I take a deep breath in. "Edwa… Edward," I try to yell, but it comes out as more of a squeak. Edward's head snaps from Jake to me, his expression instantly shifting.

"Fuck," he murmurs, brushing past Jake and sitting on the bed beside me. "I'm sorry, baby." He smoothes my hair back and kisses my forehead. "Can you give us a minute?" He glares at Jake, his eyes narrowed.

Jake relents and nods his head. "I'll be back later, Bella," he mutters, and reluctantly leaves.

"Try… try to be nice," I say, attempting to sound all authoritative once the door to the room is shut.

He huffs and tightens his grip around my waist. "It's difficult."

"He's important." His jaw unclenches and he sighs. "He'll help me get better faster," I explain.

He shuts his eyes "I'll try, but only for you." He traces his finger down my cheek, stopping at the strap for the oxygen mask. "I really want to kiss you," he murmurs.

"Me, too." I blink up at him, and he bites his lip, shaking his head. "You look better," I say, tracing my fingers over the prominent stubble on his jaw.

"I feel better this afternoon."

"No more hospital gown?" I ask, tugging on his black t-shirt.

"My dad brought me some clothes. I hate those fucking hospital gowns. Why would they pick such a horrible colour for people who already feel like shit? I mean, burnt lime green? Seriously?"

"Hmm. I thought you would like it for the easy access," I tease.

He smirks and brushes his fingers around the collar of my hospital gown. "There _is _that." He runs his hand from the collar, down my side, stopping at my hip. "Maybe we'll keep it," he suggests.

I quirk an eyebrow to him. "I'd rather not."

His expression changes instantly and he jerks his hand back. "I'm sorry," he says softly.

"It's not your fault, Edward. You can't think that way."

He rakes his hands through his hair and gets up from the bed, pacing. "I should have seen it! I should have-"

"Stop it. You can't do this to yourself," I interrupt him.

He stops pacing and sits back down on the bed. "I would never forgive myself if..."

I place my fingers over his lips, taking the opportunity to trace them, just to feel some part of him connected to me. "Don't. I'm fine, alright? And you need to just let this go." He nods and sighs, kissing my fingers and then lacing his with them.

"You were gone when I woke up," I whisper.

"Dr. Wonderkid said it was against the rules to be in bed with you."

"Stupid rules," I mumble.

He laughs and nods his head. We sit like that for a long time, with Edward pulling his fingers through my hair, kissing my forehead, and gently tracing my arms, our desperation to stay connected to each other winning out over my pure exhaustion. This is all I want and I all I need. Just Edward.

XXXXXX

The rhythmic sounds of an ancient drum stirs in my subconscious and my eyes flutter open to Renee, standing by my bed, her eyes shut as she moves her arms in wide slow circles. "Mom?"

"Shh. I'm channeling energy here, dear." I shake my head, saying nothing. It's not worth it for me to argue with her. I push up to sit in the bed and take a tentative deep breath. It burns, but not as badly as it did this morning. Hopefully, that means they can take the mask off.

She blows out a loud and deliberate breath, and opens her eyes. "Feel better?" she asks, plopping down on the bed beside me.

"A bit, actually."

"See? And you think all this stuff is useless," she says, waving her arms at the crystals beside the bed.

"Hmm. Where's Edward?"

She smiles and squeezes my hand. "He's talking with the police. They want to ask you some questions about what happened, if you're up to it," she says gently.

I nod my head at her. "Can I get this mask off? It's really starting to piss me off."

She throws her head back and laughs. "That nice young doctor is on rounds. I'm sure he'll be here soon," she says dismissively. She whips her cell phone out of the pocket of her sweater and starts texting.

"You're texting?"

She nods her head at me. "Phil. He went home to take Molson out. I need him to bring more lavender. This is running out, and we can't have that," she states, nodding her head to the wooden dish on the table.

I roll my eyes at her. "God forbid we run out of lavender, Mom."

She closes her phone and puts it back into her pocket. She gently picks up my hand and runs her fingers over the palm. "Such a strong will, even now, after everything," she murmurs.

"I've been through worse."

She shuts her eyes and squeezes my hand tighter. "Yeah. You have. I wish…" Her voice trails and she bites down on her lip, trying not to lose her composure.

"You wish what?"

She opens her eyes and stares at me. "That you didn't have to go through all of this, Bella."

I smile back at her. "I wouldn't be who I am if I didn't."

"I know that. But a mother never wants to see her child suffer. Even a crazy mother like me."

"Mom, you're not crazy. You're amazing. You know that."

She cocks her head to the side at me. "Yes, I am," she says, smiling and picking up one of the crystals. "A little unconventional, maybe…"

I take the crystal from her and roll it between my fingers. "I like unconventional. I wouldn't want it any other way."

XXXXXX

God knows how many hours later, Dr. Yorkie has removed the oxygen mask, and the nurses have drawn more blood than I knew I had. I'm propped up with a series of pillows and waiting for whatever they're going to put me through next. I don't like waiting, and I particularly don't like not being in control. I'm totally at the mercy of whatever tests the youngest doctor in history decides he wants to run, and the nurses who seem determined to keep me from seeing Edward.

The good news is, breathing is less painful, and the wheezing is starting to taper, just as Dr. Yorkie said it would. My leg, however, is another matter. It's starting to cramp from lack of movement, and I really wish Jake would make an appearance so we can get on with this and I can go home.

I'm just about to attempt to hop off the bed and put on my prosthetic myself, when Edward finally appears at my door. "Whoa. What are you doing?" he asks, propelling himself to the bed while I try to stand.

"I'm getting on with my life. It's driving me crazy just lying here," I say, the annoyance clearly evident in my tone.

"You shouldn't be trying to get up right now," he chastises me.

"This coming from the man who had to be wheeled into my room because he was too weak to walk? Since when are you the patron saint of following orders?"

He chuckles at me. "You're feeling better," he muses as he gently eases me back onto the bed. "The snarky comebacks have returned. I missed them." He cups my face between his hands, his mouth dropping open quickly. "The mask is gone?"

"A little while ago."

He runs his thumb over my dry lips, and I shut my eyes at the sensation. "They're so dry," he murmurs.

"Maybe you should do something about that."

"Yeah?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at me.

"Yeah."

He slowly leans forward, stilling his lips in front of mine. My heart hammers in my chest, every nerve ending in my body on hyper alert as he gently captures my lips, a low throaty moan emanating from him. His body relaxes against mine while he laces his fingers through my hair, holding me to him gently as I slide my tongue against his, desperate to taste him again.

My fingers grasp urgently at his hair as I throw everything I have into the kiss. I want him to feel how much he means to me, to know how close we both came to losing this, how together, we're both stronger than we are apart. I can hardly breathe as his lips move frantically, and he starts to ease me back onto the bed. I don't want to stop, and neither does he.

A throat clearing in the room is the only thing that keeps us from going further. Edward pulls back, keeping his eyes shut while I gasp for air and scowl at the doctor. "Mr. Cullen. Didn't I already discharge you?" Dr. Yorkie asks pointedly.

"I'm visiting. Is that against your long list of rules?" Edward snaps.

"Not right now, no, though visiting hours _are_ over at nine." Edward looks like he may go for Dr. Yorkie's throat, but the doctor doesn't even acknowledge him, turning his attention to me. "Miss Swan, there are two police officers who would like a word, if you're feeling up to it, of course."

Edward looks at me warily. "Sure," I answer, staring at Edward, my heart racing with the fact that I have to relive this again, so soon. It's something I just want to tuck away and forget ever happened.

Edward protests, but the police want to hear my account of the events without him. Even the Charlie-was-my-father card doesn't sway them, and so, Edward is taken from me again as they make me step through what happened, detail by painful detail.

The good news is they've brought the hospital psychologist, Dr. Emily Young, with them. She's been assigned to counsel both Edward and I as we try to deal with the aftermath of the fire. She's warm and comforting, and I find myself squeezing her hand through my tears.

The police are patient and listen intently as I tell them how Jane threatened me, told me I'd never be enough for Edward, that she knew how to make him happy and would die trying to. How she admitted to being the one who chased me that first rainy night in the car, and tried to run us both down in the parking lot, and yes, even staked out my house, several times.

They give me no reaction when I tell them that she said she didn't want to hurt Edward, but that she would nurse him back to health if she did. They don't even bat an eye when I tell them that she admitted to setting fire to the studio to keep him with her, so he'd have to paint more.

The more I talk, the more laboured my breathing becomes, and the harder I squeeze Dr. Young's hand. She finally tells the officers that she thinks I've had enough.

When they leave the room, I sob into her shoulder, my tears soaking her silk blouse. I cry until the tears run dry and, with the help of Dr. Young, I curl up into the bed, completely and totally exhausted.

"_You'll never be enough for him."_ Her dark, wild eyes, void of emotion, stare back at me, her voice lifeless and jarringly calm. "_I told you I would have him and I will." _As she stalks her way closer to the bed, I wake, shooting straight up, the panic attack overtaking me quickly while I gasp for air.

"Shh, Bella." Alice launches herself from the chair beside the bed and cradles me. "It's just a dream," she says over and over, trying to convince both of us, I think.

My heart hammers in my chest, the room spinning while I try to calm my breathing. "But it's not," I whisper into her shoulder.

Jasper tries to smile at me in reassurance from the end of the bed. They both stay with me, Alice holding me until I succumb to fatigue again.

XXXXXX

"It's been a while since you've been in here," Jake says, motioning to the treadmill in the physio room on the seventh floor. I nod at him and get on the treadmill, waiting for him to adjust the settings.

It _has_ been a long time. I never expected to be in here again. It's not a place where happy memories reside. It's where Jake pushed me when I didn't think I could go another step, where he caught me each and every time I fell, and where we formed the bond that allows me to trust him above anyone else when it comes to knowing my physical limits. "Now, we're going to go slow today, okay? I mean it, Swan."

"Just start the damn machine, Jake."

"Music to my ears." He smirks and presses the start button, the treadmill moving slowly beneath my feet.

I keep up with it easily for just over five minutes, and then, I roll my eyes at him. "Seriously? We've been running together for years. I'm pretty sure I can handle something a bit faster."

He shakes his head and presses the up arrow a few times on the machine. It starts to speed up, taking me to a slow jog. "You okay?" he asks, eyeing me intently.

"Yeah," I manage to say, even though I'm not okay. "Faster." My lungs feel like they're going to explode, and my thigh is stiff from lack of movement over the past three days. He shakes his head at me and hits the stop button on the treadmill.

He snakes his arm around my waist and helps me off, sitting me in the red plastic chair beside the machine. "Baby steps, Bella. You can do this, but you need to listen to me."

I clench my eyes shut while he squats in front of me and runs his hands up to my thighs. "You need time to heal before we start running like we used to again. Give it a couple of days, okay? You can take walks and hold hands with Mr. Fantastic. You know… the romantic shit that chicks like."

"Chicks? Is that what you're calling Leah now?" I ask while my breathing starts to calm.

He snorts and grabs a bottle of water from his backpack. He hands it to me and watches while I take a long sip. "Relationships are a lot of hard work," he says reflectively.

"Thanks for the update, genius."

"I'm trying here. Cut me some slack." I smirk and nod my head at him. "When did you know that you were… you know… _into_ _him,_" he asks quietly.

I swallow a large gulp of water and stare back at him. "If I'm being honest, I was attracted to him the first time I met him. I was a royal bitch to him, though," I admit.

"He probably deserved it," he scoffs.

"No one deserves to be treated the way I treated him. I mean, yeah, he was messed up. Well, he still is, but so am I. Why are you asking me this?"

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. "I think, I may be… well, sort of, kind of… in love with Leah," he stammers.

I raise my eyebrows to him. "_Sort_ of, _kind _of in love?" I mock.

"How do you know if you really are, or if it's just really hot sex?"

I nearly spit out my water. "Thanks for the visual."

"Anytime." He looks at me anxiously. "So?"

"I think it's different for everybody. You can't imagine being without them, you think about them all the time, if something ever happened to them… it would be like losing a part of you." He smiles and nods his head quickly at me. "So, you're in love, then?"

He flashes me one of his signature smiles. "Yeah. I think I am." He holds his hand out to me, and I take it, slowly lifting out of the chair. "Let's get you back to your room, Swan. I'm sure Mr. Fantastic is waiting."

XXXXXX

I'm pacing… again. It's all I've done for the last day. When I'm not being subjected to x-rays, or blood work, or Rose and Alice's interrogations – theirs were worse than the police, if that's possible – I pace.

I've seen Edward only sporadically, which is unsettling. He alternates between meeting with his dad and his insurance agent, and sleeping with me in the miniscule spot on my bed, clinging to me for dear life. He hasn't gone back to the apartment. He says he doesn't want to without me.

These last few days, he has been a bundle of nervous energy. He refuses to paint until he can see the studio, and he refuses to see it without me. Alice and Rose are right. We are truly two of the most stubborn people on the planet.

Even though we both have sat through counseling sessions to deal with post traumatic stress, I have a feeling that Edward isn't going to really react to the enormity of what's happened to him until we go back to the apartment… to the studio to see what's left… if anything is.

On the sessions we've had together over the last couple of days, he's spent most of the time rolling his eyes and looking annoyed when Dr. Young explains that it's normal to experience anxiety, sadness, and even depression after a fire. He continually tells her he's fine, and that he just needs to get back to his normal… whatever that is for him.

While I'm making my eightieth circuit around the floor, the nurses arrive with a large and unusual flower arrangement, gushing over it while they set it on the table by the bed. I open the card, curious as to whom they're from. Virtually everyone I know has either been staked out here or has come to visit.

_Bella,_

_Heard what happened and I'm in shock._

_Hope you are better soon. Come and see me when you are._

_Fondly,_

_James_

I shudder and am more than a little shocked by the gesture. I promptly give the flowers to the nurses to take to another patient. I'm fairly certain Edward would have a coronary if he knew James sent me flowers. The last thing we need right now is more stress.

After the nurses disappear with the flowers, I sit, bored out of my mind while I wait for Edward on the side of the bed. I've done all of the exercises Jake has requested, twice, and am about ready to lose it if I'm not let out of here soon.

Edward finally saunters into the room, freshly shaven and happier than I've seen him since this happened. I stand from the bed and look up hopefully at him as Dr. Yorkie joins him. "You're free to go," Edward says, stalking to me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

"Really?" I ask, looking at the doctor questioningly. He nods his head in agreement.

"Yes. I signed your release papers this morning. Your blood work and X-rays both look good. Thankfully, there is no lung damage or trachea scarring. I understand from Mr. Black that you and he run together?" Dr. Yorkie asks while Edward stiffens beside me. He's clearly not happy about me spending time with Jake, but he's going to have to get used to it.

"Yeah. We've been running together since my skiing accident."

"Good. I encourage you to keep doing that, starting out slowly, of course. You'll probably experience shortness of breath, maybe some chest pain if you try to head out too quickly. Your lungs are clear, but they've been through a lot. You're in good hands with Mr. Black. You should be back to your normal exercise routine in about two weeks," he explains.

"Thank you, Dr. Yorkie," I tear myself away from Edward and hug him.

He pats my back awkwardly, pulling back quickly. These doctors are so clinical. They could use a lesson in bedside manner. "Good luck to both of you," he says, nodding and shutting the door behind him.

I turn to Edward and wrap my arms around his waist, "No more horrific green hospital gown? No more cardboard food?" I ask sarcastically.

"I'll even make you dinner," he says suggestively, smiling widely at me.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." His smile fades instantly. "After we go to my apartment."

XXXXXX

Just over an hour later, we pull up in front of Edward's apartment. He's been unusually quiet on the drive from the hospital. He turns the car off, shuts his eyes, and grips the steering wheel while I watch him anxiously. He finally opens his eyes and gets out of the car, darting to the passenger side to open my door and help me out.

A police officer I recognize from the hospital is standing in front of the door, just as Edward said he would be. There is also an older man with balding hair, and another man and a woman who are holding onto each other, looking just as anxious as Edward did in the car.

Edward pulls me in the direction of the couple and stops in front of them. "Bella, this is my dad, Carlisle, and Esme, his girlfriend," he introduces.

Some warning would have been nice, is my first thought, as I stand here having not had a proper shower in over four days and feeling like I want to throw up. At least I'm dressed well, thanks to Alice who brought over a change of clothes to me this morning.

"It's so nice to meet you," I say, holding my hand out.

Carlisle has other ideas and ignores my hand, engulfing me in his arms and squeezing me tightly. "Bella," he breathes, pulling back to look at me closely. "We were so worried. We saw you in the hospital. You weren't awake, of course, but we've spent time with Renee and Phil."

"Oh, yes, they're just lovely," Esme says politely. Oh dear God. They've spent time with Renee without me? I shudder to think what embarrassing childhood stories she has unleashed on them.

"I hope that wasn't too painful," I joke. Carlisle laughs and shakes his head, smiling at Edward.

"Let's get this over with," Edward mumbles. He moves to the door, on a mission it seems, sliding the key into the lock, and opening it slowly. He stops and turns back to me, holding his hand out. I take it and squeeze it tightly as he pulls me into the apartment.

The faint smell of smoke lingers in the air, the apartment covered in a heavy dusting of soot. He peers tentatively into the living room, his body relaxing slightly. The couches and wall unit all appear to be fine, as does the kitchen.

The police officer surveys the foyer and then steps to the side, clearing the way for the bald man to enter. "How many paintings were in your studio?" the man asks, wasting no time.

"Nineteen," he answers, looking directly at Carlisle. Carlisle smiles and looks away.

"Size of the paintings?"

"I don't know… different sizes, Jenks. We've been through this," Edward barks, clearly annoyed at the question from the man, who I'm assuming is Edward's insurance agent.

"And the estimated value of these paintings?" Jenks asks, writing feverishly on a clipboard.

"Why don't you fucking ask the person who started the Goddamn fire?" Edward seethes.

"Edward!" Carlisle admonishes while the police officer stiffens beside him.

"This is fucking bullshit, Carlisle! How the fuck do I know how much they were worth? Jane did all of that shit."

"Mr. Cullen, I'm just trying to help," Jenks states.

Edward huffs in annoyance, his shoulders slumping forward. "My last collection went for over nine million when they were all sold in the end. Does that help?"

Jenks nods his head, and I squeeze Edward's hand in reassurance. "So, it's fair to say, these paintings would be worth at least that much?" Jenks asks.

"I guess. I don't know. Art is subjective, but probably at least nine million," Edward mutters. I'm in shock. I mean, I knew at least one of his paintings sold for a million dollars, but I had no idea they were worth that much.

"Were they exposed to extinguishers, water from the hoses?" Jenks asks.

"I don't fucking know," Edward says, his entire body coiling in frustration as he looks anxiously up the stairs.

"I'm going to need to see the studio, Edward, to assess damages," Jenks says calmly while he moves to the staircase.

Edward drops my hand and launches towards Jenks, pulling on his shirt and hauling him off the first stair. "Get the fuck off my stairs," he practically growls, while the police officer steps between them.

"We're going to remain calm, right? We're all here for the same reason, Mr. Cullen," the officer says to him in warning.

Edward drops his hand from Jenks' shirt and takes a step back from him. "I'm sorry, but we need to determine the extent of damage to each of your paintings. I need to be able to see whether we're dealing with widespread damage, or simply surface discolouration, blistering, burning, water damage…" Jenks' voice trails, while he starts for the stairs again.

"I said, get the fuck off my stairs. No one sees my work before it's done," Edward fumes.

Jenks exchanges a worried glance with the police officer as Edward motions for me to join him. I stop in front of the officer while Edward continues up to the studio. "He'll be alright. Just give us a minute, okay? It's difficult for him." Both the officer and Jenks nod, and I join Edward on the second floor.

I lace my fingers with his and lean into his side. He looks down at our fingers, takes a deep breath and steps into the studio. I follow him tentatively, taking in the room, feeling the tears well up instantly.

The desk that used to house his iPod and all of his brushes and paints has been reduced to charred, ashen remains of wood, piled in a messy heap. The previously pristine hardwood floor is black with soot and scorched in several places. The wall behind the desk is covered with water stains. The ladder that he stood on to paint in the furthest corners of the canvas has been knocked to the floor in front of one of the easels.

I watch as he walks to the first covered canvas in the room and hesitates in front of it. He takes a deep breath and then, he pulls the white cotton cover off of it and each of the remaining canvasses, one by one, dropping the covers to the floor. His eyes are wild, dark and burning as he goes back to the first painting and takes his time, running his fingers over it gently.

I feel the tears betray me and start to fall. I know it's bad. He's not speaking, not even moving as he stops in front of the piece for the auction, his hands clenched into tight fists.

I look at the paintings, trying to gauge if they're salvageable. I have no idea… some of them look fine, others, closer to where the charred remains of the desk are, seem to have a film of soot over them, but they are all still here, and still in tact. That has to mean something. There must be something we can do to save them.

He sinks his fingers into his hair, raking them through repeatedly, saying nothing. I'm paralyzed where I stand, not knowing whether I should go to him or not, feeling like maybe I'm intruding on something that is so personal and clearly life changing for him.

I don't know how much time passes while he stands in the studio, just staring at each of the paintings, his expressions twisting and turning, until he finally turns to me, the tears running freely down his face. He looks utterly defeated and lost.

His shaky voice fills the room. "Can I stay with you?"

Chapter end notes:

Up next, EPOV. As always, let me know what you're thinking. Renee's healing music:

Earth Drum - Ancient Way - David & Steve Gordon:

www (dot) youtube .com/watch?v=f6OW2lA-cWA&feature=related


	32. Chapter 32

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. October 2010.

Many thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who also created the banner. Check out her new fic: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO hun!

Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thank you so much.

A million thanks to MizzezPattinson who took the time out of her hectic schedule to pre-read this chapter for me. Much love, hun. WAP.

Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Let's see how Bella's doing.

_Last time…_

_I don't know how much time passes while he stands in the studio, just staring at each of the paintings, his expressions twisting and turning, until he finally turns to me, the tears running freely down his face. He looks utterly defeated and lost._

_His shaky voice fills the room. "Can I stay with you?"_

Chapter 32

EPOV

"Of course you can," she whispers, crossing the studio to me and wrapping her arms around my waist. My entire body molds into hers. I am completely and utterly spent, emotionally exhausted at seeing my collection in the state that it's currently in.

I know that most people wouldn't even notice the subtle changes to the texture, to the intensity of the colours in the paintings that are damaged, but I can see it and it's ripping my heart out. This represents everything my life has turned into since I met Bella, and now, it feels completely different.

I sink my face into her hair and try not to lose it completely. "Are they... Can any of them be saved?" she asks quietly. I want to tell her its okay, and that this nightmare is over, but right now, all I can think of is the fact that I could have lost her to some stupid paintings.

"Some of them are alright." I break from her and walk to the two paintings closest to what remains of my desk. "These ones... I don't know. I'll definitely have to redo the painting for the auction," I say, my shaking voice echoing in the studio while I trail my fingers over the bottom of the singed frame.

"Don't worry about the auction. It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. I said I would paint something for it and I'm going to," I bark at her, raking my fingers through my hair in frustration.

"Okay," she says timidly, and now, I'm pissed off at myself for taking my fucking anger out on her.

"I'm sorry." I cross back to her and wrap my arms around her shoulders. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

She buries her head against my chest. "It's alright. I'm here, Edward. You need to talk about this. If not to me, then maybe Dr. Young could-"

"I just need you," I interrupt her. There is no fucking way I'm talking to a shrink about this. I kiss her forehead and cup her tiny face between my hands, her skin still dry and red under my shaking fingertips.

"There must be something we can do about all of your work."

"Even if there is, it doesn't feel the same. This was supposed to be about passion and hope, and now, it's just..." I clench my eyes shut and move away from her, not wanting her to see me break down.

"It's still about hope. You can turn this into something good," she says determinedly.

She stares at me from in front of the last painting I did, inspired by her, by the mountain, by overcoming everything that she already has. She's so strong, even now. Stronger than I am, stronger than I deserve, and I marvel in how much she's changed me, how I can't even imagine my life without her, now.

"This is everything you are... all your hard work, all the hours you spent…" Her voice trails as she studies the canvas in front of her.

"All for you."

She shakes her head. "It's not for me."

"It _is_, Bella. Everything in here is because of you."

"It's because of _you_, Edward. Because you saw something that no one else ever has and found a way to bring that to life. This is about you – expressing yourself, your feelings, the things you want to say, but maybe can't. It's about you, changing your life." She crosses the room to me and wraps her arms around my waist, looking up at me hopefully. "So, don't you think we should try to save it?"

I just nod my head, completely overcome by her. Wishing I could tell her how much she means to me and knowing that there really is only one way for me to do that. She pulls me closer and runs her hands up my chest and around my neck.

I slide my hands around her waist and inch her closer to me. "I need to paint," I say, staring down at her. She looks surprised at my statement, like maybe she doesn't think that's the best idea in the world.

"Now?" she asks innocently, glancing at the charred remains of my painting supplies.

"At your place. If that's alright?"

"Yeah. Of course. Whatever you need," she says, reaching up to kiss me lightly. I just need her. She has no idea how much.

I pull back from her reluctantly, moving to the white sheets on the floor, and start methodically covering the paintings back up. She watches me silently, waiting while I finish the task.

I move to her and then, take a final look at the studio, knowing I won't ever paint in here again. There is no way that I can. It's a mixture of fantastically vivid life changing moments that have defined my existence. This is where Bella first really trusted me, where I realized I was in love with her. But, it's also where, now, there are too many dark and twisted memories that I don't want to relive. I'll never be able to be in here and not think about the fact that I almost lost her. There's no way I'll be able to paint here with that hanging over my head.

"Take me back to your place. Take me home," I whisper.

She just blinks back her tears and nods at me, her little hand sliding into mine.

I'm in a fog as she leads me down the stairs to Carlisle's worried face and Esme's warm, welcoming smile.

"Edward?" Carlisle asks anxiously.

"I just need some time, Dad."

Carlisle simply nods his head and cups my shoulder, pulling me towards him.

"Can I go up and see the studio, now?" Jenks asks.

"No, Jenks, you can't."

"But—"

"I said, no. You'll see it when I'm ready for you to see it."

XXXXXX

An hour later, I've managed to convince Jenks that his insurance assessment is going to have to wait. He's not happy about it, but the claim for the smoke damage on the rest of the loft will keep him busy for a few days, until I have more time to wrap my head around what the fuck I'm going to.

After I promise Carlisle and Esme that I'll meet them later this week for lunch, I've packed most of my clothes and bathroom shit into my luggage, along with a few choice bottles of wine that I'm extremely anxious to open… preferably soon.

We take the short ride back to Bella's house, and I park in front while she fidgets beside me. "I need supplies," I say for the third time. The fact that I'm going to get them from James is not sitting well with her. If I'm being honest, it doesn't sit well with me, either.

"And you can't get them from anywhere else?" she asks, her voice is so quiet, I can barely hear it.

"Well, I could, but they're shit everywhere else. James has the best."

The stress in her face is evident, and I run my fingers across the little lines in her furrowed brow. "Edward..."

"I know this is probably uncomfortable for you. Trust me; I can't stand the fucker. But this is something I know. I'm going to have to paint in a different place, with a different atmosphere and lighting, and I just... I need something that's familiar. He's the only one with these brushes and-"

"You can't order them from somewhere else?"

"That would take time. I need to paint, Bella," I say as forcefully as I can without scaring the living hell out of her. I'm not sure she grasps the concept of just how vital this is to me. If I don't get this emotion out and onto a canvas, I'm not sure what the fuck I'm going to do with myself. I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams here.

"Okay," she whispers, opening the door and getting out of the car. I pop the trunk and pull my suitcase out, rolling it up to the porch behind her.

"Welcome home!" Emmett's voice booms as the front door swings open and he comes barreling out with Rose behind him.

"Hey, guys," Bella says as she's immediately engulfed by Emmett. "You used your key, I see."

"We thought we'd order in pizza and help get you settled," Rose says, eyeing my suitcase curiously. "Sleep over, Cullen?"

"Yes, Rose. A sleep over," Bella says firmly as they silently exchange some knowing look.

"Well, come on in, then!" Emmett says happily, holding the door open.

"It's a good thing you're here, actually, Em. We need to move the furniture around in the living room so Edward can set up to paint."

Rose nods her head and smirks at me. "You're going to paint in here?" she asks, turning to Bella's living room, which is probably a third of size that my studio was… well, is.

"Yes, I am. I can help you move stuff, Emmett," I offer.

"No. You go. Do what you need to do," Bella says, coaxing my fingers off my suitcase and wheeling it forward.

"I won't be gone long," I say. Fuck I almost sound like I'm whining. The mere thought of being away from her is painful.

"Take your time. I'm good here," she urges.

"Its okay, man. We've got furniture to move. We'll take care of her," Emmett says, wrapping a massive arm around her shoulder.

"Emmett! I don't need taking care of," she says, scowling at him.

He chuckles and moves into the living room with Rose, where they immediately start arguing over where to move the furniture.

Bella shakes her head at them and turns back to me. "Go. I'll be here when you get back."

"Okay," I murmur, dipping my head to kiss her. Her lips are so dry as they move with mine, and I feel the life slowly creep back into my veins. It's so easy for me to get lost in her… the way her body feels as it pushes softly against mine, the little sigh that she makes every time I kiss her, the subtle smile her lips form into just before she pulls away.

"Jesus, you two!" Rose complains as she lifts one end of Bella's couch and smiles at us.

"Go! Before Rose drops my couch and breaks a nail or something," Bella says playfully, pushing me out the door.

XXXXXX

My mood has taken a drastic one hundred and eighty degree turn as I sit in the parking lot of James' store and contemplate whether, in fact, this is a good idea.

He's got to have heard what happened, by now. It's been in the papers, and even if it hadn't been, news travels fast in the art world. I'm sure it's been rocked by the fact that Jane has actually pled guilty. Still, we didn't exactly part on the best of terms at the party and I'm not sure what's going to greet me when I walk through his door.

Fuck I'm a pussy sometimes. I don't know why I'm sitting here, freaking out about fucking James. I've done nothing wrong and I need to Goddamn paint.

I slam the door on the car and make my way inside. I glance at the counter, thinking maybe the punk kid is working. Of course, I'd never be that lucky. James is leaning over the counter behind the cash register, engrossed in some magazine.

He turns his head, his eyes growing wide. "Jesus, Cullen. You don't look so good."

"I wonder why that is?" I snort at him.

"I heard what happened. Are you guys alright?" he asks, flipping the magazine closed and staring at me like he's seen a ghost or something.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Fuck, man." He comes out from behind the counter and slaps me hard on the back, which doesn't do much for my healing lungs. Jesus, that burns. "That's some fucked up shit," he says.

"Tell me about it," I manage, coughing slightly.

"What happened? I mean, I know Jane's into kinky shit, but arson?"

"I have no idea, James. She just lost it, I guess."

"How's Bella?" he asks, his voice softening slightly.

I narrow my eyes at him, fisting my hands at the mention of her name from his mouth. "She's okay. Shaken up and scared, but she'll be alright."

"Good." He shakes his head and hesitates before beginning again. "What about your collection, man?" he asks, actually sounding like he gives a shit.

"That, I'm not sure about. Some of it's fine. Some of it… I don't know. There's smoke damage," I admit, my hands automatically raking through my hair anxiously.

"You should talk to Riley. He's still in town. He'd probably be able to give you his opinion, and I'm sure he knows people who might be able to help."

_What the fuck?_ James is actually offering me suggestions on how to save my work?

"What's that look for?" he asks.

"I'm just kind of surprised at you."

He huffs and shakes his head at me. "Fuck, Cullen. I know we're not drinking buddies or anything, but I also know how hard you work… just like I do, and just because we have completely different styles, doesn't mean I want to see something fucked up happen to you or your work."

I stare at him in shock as he waits for me to respond. He must think I'm a total idiot.

"I don't know. They just feel…"

"Different?" he asks knowingly.

"Yeah. Different," I says slowly, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I know what you mean. Well, not about arson and smoke and shit, but my studio was broken into a couple of years ago," he says.

"I didn't know about that."

"Yeah, well. You were busy being discovered and everything," he says. "Anyway, it didn't even make the news. But the studio… it never felt quite right after that. I had a hard time creating anything for a while. And then, one day, I just took everything out of it and put the mirrors up. It gave me a new perspective, you know?"

I just nod at him, completely and totally blown away by this side of him. "I know my studio doesn't seem like much, compared to what you probably have, but its mine," he says proudly.

"I know what you mean," I say. "I'm going to be painting at Bella's for a while." I don't know why that vital piece of information comes out of my mouth.

He quirks an eyebrow to me. "That should help with your inspiration," he says darkly.

"Don't push your luck," I warn, only half jokingly.

"Relax, Cullen. She's hot and you are one lucky man. So, what do you need?"

"Everything."

His eyes grow wide "Seriously?"

"The fire took everything out. All my supplies, the brushes, everything."

"Fuck. It's my lucky day," he says, cocking his head.

"Yeah. I guess it is."

XXXXXX

An hour and you don't even want to know how many thousands of dollars later, I'm hauling an armful of canvasses out of the trunk of the car and into Bella's house. Jasper and Alice have arrived since I left, and start to help with the parade of supplies that seems to go on forever.

Emmett and Rose have managed to clear the entire living room, storing the couches and the wall unit in Bella's unfinished basement. I'm left with an empty room, a large open window and an aging hardwood floor as my pseudo studio.

Bella bites her lip from the kitchen and watches while I set up the first easel beside the window. "Is it okay?" she asks timidly. "I know it's not what you're used to." She looks around the room nervously.

"It's perfect," I answer, crossing to her and pulling her into my chest. I feel instantly calmer. "Thank you for doing this. But where are you going to sit and watch TV and stuff."

"You're much more exciting than any TV show I could ever want to watch," she says playfully.

"Pizza!" Emmett's voice roars from the front door as he passes Jasper several pizzas from some delivery guy I didn't even hear knock at the door. We sit around the kitchen table for the next forty minutes and devour the pizzas. It's the first non-hospital food I've had in days, and even though I would have much preferred to make Bella something, this tastes amazing.

Alice natters on about wanting to do a follow up piece for the magazine. I push her off, not sure I can actually go down that road just yet. Actually, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to talk about how this whole fucked up mess has made me feel. The only way I know how to unleash the emotion that's twisting inside of me is to paint.

I eye the blank canvas in the middle of the room with increasing frequency, my leg bouncing harder and faster with each passing minute, until Bella feigns being tired, and they finally take the not so subtle hint to leave.

While I rinse the dishes out in her sink just to keep my hands busy, Emmett and Rose each hug Bella and practically demand that she call them in the morning. Alice is just a bundle of energy as she leaves. She's almost worse than I am right now, practically skipping out the door and jumping on Emmett's back as they make their way towards their cars. Jasper just shakes his head and smirks, shutting the door behind him.

Bella stares at the door for a minute before turning around. "Sorry. They're…" She struggles for the right words.

"Your best friends. It's alright. I'm glad you have them."

"Me, too. Oh, I have something for you."

"I think you're doing enough for me. I'm overtaking your living room; you're letting me stay here…"

"And you don't think I'm getting anything out of that?" she asks, opening a draw from the little table at the front door. She pulls out an iPod and joins me in the kitchen. "There's a mix of classical pieces on here. Jasper downloaded them for me. I don't know the names of any of the stuff you listen to when you paint, but there's a bunch of different ones you can choose from. I thought maybe—" I silence her quickly, my tongue gliding with hers. She's never going to cease to amaze me.

"It's perfect," I whisper against her lips.

"You've been saying that a lot tonight," she notes.

I laugh and take the iPod from her. "Thank you. For this… for everything."

"I'll leave you to it," she says, lifting her head to the canvas.

"No, stay – I mean, if you want, I'd like you to."

"I don't want to be in the way."

"You won't be."

XXXXXX

I shut my eyes and let Tchaikovsky work his way into my system from Bella's iPod docking station in the kitchen. The song is so familiar. A piece I've listened to countless times before. As I stand in front of the blank canvas, the brand new palette feels different, breaking my concentration. I miss my old own, which is now burned beyond recognition, in a scorched heap somewhere under what used to be my desk. My thumb fit perfectly into that palette; molded to my hand from years of using it. This one slips slightly and it's fucking pissing me off.

There are so many things I want to paint…so many emotions swirling. I don't even know where to start. I'm terrified I'm going to screw it up. I glance at her as she sits on one of the chairs in the kitchen, and she smiles. A simple reassuring smile that to most would mean nothing, but to me, means everything.

I dip the brand new brush in crimson red and start to paint.

XXXXXX

I can feel the sweat beading on my brow and take a minute to step back. I cock my head to the side, staring at the canvas, and feel a slow smile start to take over my face. "What do you think?" I ask, turning to the kitchen and finding her passed out, her head slumped against the back of the chair in a position that looks extremely uncomfortable.

How long have I been painting? I look out into the darkened night. It's pitch black outside. Fuck I'm an idiot. She needs to lie down. I set the palette down on kitchen table and crouch beside her.

"Bella, baby. Wake up. It's time for bed," I whisper, brushing the hair that has fallen in her face away.

"Mmmm, what time is it?" she mumbles.

"You don't want to know."

A soft smile plays across her plump lips, and she opens her tired eyes to me. "Mmmm… need to..."

"I know, baby. I'm going to run us a bath." Those words seem to wake her up considerably, and she giggles as I lift her out of the chair.

She wraps her hands around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder. "A bath, eh?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm done smelling like smoke," I say, carrying her down the hall and to the bathroom.

I set her down on the side of the tub and we work in tandem, her filling the bath with hot water and adding some mystery substance to it, and me, spending more time than normal with the nightly routine on her prosthetic. Even though she says its fine, her thigh looks slightly red and sore, which pisses me off even more-like she doesn't have enough to deal with.

Finally, after removing the rest of her clothes, a task which I also spend more time on than normal, just so I can touch her, I help her into the tub. She shuts her eyes and leans back on her hands, titling her hair so it's grazing the water, her breasts just above the water line. "Are you joining me?" she asks quietly.

"I don't know. The view from here is pretty damn good."

Her laughter fills the small room, along with an almost intoxicating scent from the bath, and she shakes her head at me. "I'll bet it's even better from in here. But it's up to you," she says coyly.

She closes her eyes in contentment, and I quickly rid myself of my clothes, sinking into the tub behind her. The water rises, lapping around us, and I swiftly pull her against my chest, both of us sighing at the contact.

I shut my eyes, feeling emotion threatening to burst through again. This last twenty-four hours has been so overwhelming for us. I know we haven't even begun to talk about what happened. Fuck, I don't even know _what_ happened between her and Jane before I got there. I don't know if I really _want_ to know. All that matters to me, right now, is that she's safe, and she's here, with me.

She trails a pattern up my thigh with a washcloth, bringing me back to reality. She quietly holds it back to me, the water dripping onto my chest. I slowly dip it into the water and squeeze it over her shoulders. The water creates a thin stream down between her breasts as I fight a losing battle with my dick.

"This is nice," she says, resting her head on my chest. "Just you and me."

"Yeah. It is." I squeeze the cloth over her hair repeatedly, saturating it. She leans forward and grabs the shampoo from the side of the tub, handing it to me. I squirt a dab into my hands and then gently massage it into her hair.

She moans while my fingers carefully twist the knots from her hair, and I grow harder, even in the water that is starting to cool. She giggles and casts a glance over her shoulder at me.

"What?"

"A little excited are we?" she asks, smirking at me.

"A little more than a little. You know that."

She grabs my hand, kissing the palm and laughs, shifting back again. I tentatively move my hand over her breast and down to her stomach, my breathing elevated already. She's so soft, so warm. "Edward?" She covers my hand with hers and brings it up and out of the water, holding it to her lips. "Would you understand if... I mean."

"It's okay, baby. I know. I'm sorry... I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not. I'm the one who's sorry. I want to. I'm just exhausted and a lot has happened today... well this week, actually. And this is…"

"Perfect," I say, kissing her shoulder.

"There you go with that word again."

I chuckle and start to rinse the soap out of her hair. "But it is," I whisper.

We spend as much time as we can in our bath sanctuary, exchanging gentle touches and kisses, until she starts to shiver from the temperature of the water. I help her dry off, and carry her to bed, where I'd be content to stay forever.

XXXXXX

I curl to her side of the bed, only to be greeted by empty sheets and a grey bleak morning, peeking through the beige blinds in her bedroom. Those blinds have got to come down. We need some colour in this place, and where the fuck is she?

I sit up and run my hands over my face before looking to the pillow beside me and a note. Hmmm, she's gone with Jake, no doubt. Steroid-driven ass that he is.

_Edward-_

_Gone with Jake to try to start running._

_Coffee is on._

_I'll bring home bagels._

_I'm glad you're here._

_Last night was, to use your word… perfect._

_X-B_

I grin like an idiot, and I don't even care. I am so in love with this woman, it's frightening. I also need to paint, and so, I bolt from the bed and rummage around in my suitcase, pulling a pair of jeans and a t-shirt out.

After using the bathroom, and throwing on my clothes, I make my way to the living room and study the canvas from last night. It's good. Really, really good. Intense, vivid, edgy, a little out of control, much like how I was feeling last night. I cover it and start to mix colours on the palette for the new piece. Mixing paint in the kitchen isn't ideal, this I'm well aware of, and I wonder how long she's going to put up with me totally overtaking her place.

I push that thought away, flip on the iPod, and get lost in a swirl of grey.

XXXXXX

"Well, that's certainly nice to come home to." I whip my head to the door and see Renee, standing in the living room, with a large wooden bowl in her hands, full of little bottles. She has her hair up in pig tails and is wearing a bright yellow t-shirt, with a picture of a dog on it, and baggy bell-bottom jeans with holes everywhere in them.

It takes me a minute to wrap my head around the fact that someone is standing… in the space where I'm painting. I don't fucking like the feeling, not one bit. This is why I never let anyone, well except Bella, see me paint. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"Oh, hey, Renee," I say, moving in front of the canvas, trying desperately to hide it from her as smoky lavender drips off my brush and onto the floor.

"Not painting at your place?" she asks, making her way into the living room.

"No. I can't really paint there the way it is."

She stops right in front of me. "Bad aura?" she asks seriously.

"Something like that, yeah."

"So, let's see it," she says excitedly, craning her neck around me.

I shift with her to try to block her from seeing what I've started. "Um… don't take this the wrong way, but I don't let anyone see my work before it's done."

She lifts an eyebrow to me and takes a step back. "Even Bella?"

"No. Except for Bella."

She nods her head in approval, I think. "She tends to be exception in a lot of cases."

"That she does."

"Well, I won't get in your way. I just need to replenish her—"

"Mom? What are you doing here?" Bella interrupts as she comes through the door. My entire body screams for her as I stare at her from in front of the canvas. She's got her hair up in a high pony tail, a slight flush to her skin, and she's wearing a tight black hoodie and jogging pants that look like a second skin. Jesus fuck! This is what she wears to go running with the Roid boy?

"I knew you'd be needing supplies, dear," Renee says, making her way to the kitchen and setting down the bowl on the counter.

"Supplies?" Bella asks.

"Healing treatments, you know. All I can smell is paint in here. How on earth do you expect to cleanse your spirit?"

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. "We'll manage, Mom," Bella says, rolling her eyes.

"How do your paintings look, Edward? When I saw Esme at dinner last night, she didn't really know," Renee says, clanking the bottles around in the bowl while she looks for something specific.

_She's been having dinner with Esme? What? _

"Actually, I should know more about that today," I say, locking eyes with Bella. "I'm going to try to meet with Riley, the curator from the museum I met the other night?" She nods her head at me and then moves into the kitchen. "Hopefully he'll have time to take a look at them and give me his assessment."

"But they're not done," Bella says, dropping a welcoming Tim Hortons bag beside Renee's mystery bowl.

"I know," I say, tearing my eyes from her ass.

She smirks, catching me checking her out. "But you never show them to anyone until they're finished."

"He may be able to help. Actually, it was James' idea."

"James?" She looks as shocked as I was yesterday when he suggested it.

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"My thoughts exactly."

Renee finally pulls out some amber coloured bottle from the bowl and holds it up. "Come on, dear. We'll start in the bedroom."

I lift my eyebrows to Bella, and she just shakes her head while Renee pulls her down the hall. "Mom, you can't just pop in anytime you want, now," Bella hisses at her. I laugh as their voices fade down the hallway. I turn the easel to the wall and make my way into the kitchen, switching off the iPod and getting ready to clean up my mess. Painting is going to have to wait.

XXXXXX

It's almost noon as I pace a hole in the floor in my living room. Bella is busying herself in the kitchen, trying to start the clean up process, even though I have absolutely no intention of ever living here again.

While Renee doused Bella's house with more cleansing oils than I knew existed, I took James' advice and called Riley. He had, of course, already heard what happened and eagerly agreed to meet me, something which I'm now not sure I actually want. I feel nauseous.

A swift knock at the door brings my pacing to a halt, and I hesitate, looking to Bella for reassurance. She dries her hands on one of my blue dish towels and joins me in front of the door, lacing her fingers with mine. I smile down at her and open the door.

Riley greets me with a questioning look, eyeing Bella curiously. "Riley, this is Bella Swan, my…" Reason for living, inspiration…

"Girlfriend?" she asks, looking up at me with an amused expression.

"More than a girlfriend, I'd say." I squeeze her fingers and turn my attention back to Riley.

"So nice to meet you, Bella. You must be the reason for Edward's collection. Am I right?" he asks, looking between us.

Bella flushes at his words and looks away from him. "You could say that, yeah. Come on in." We move to the side and he steps into the apartment, his nose crinkling immediately. "Sorry. We're still dealing with smoke in here. The insurance people haven't sent anyone in to clean and stuff," I explain nervously.

"I'm so sorry, Edward. I can't even imagine what this must be like for you. For both of you. Never, in a million years, would I have believed Jane was capable of something like this," he says, sincerely.

"You and me both," I say.

I shift nervously as an awkward silence falls between us. "I know you said you don't let anyone see your work. You have my word that I won't say anything about what I see here today."

"Okay. Studio is upstairs." I hold on to Bella's hand for dear life and climb the stairs to the second floor. I take a deep breath and enter the room, stopping beside the disintegrated desk.

"This is quite a studio," he marvels, stepping in behind us.

"Was," I mutter under my breath.

Riley nods his head. "It's a wonderful place for you to create. A lot of artists don't have this kind of set up."

"I know. I've been very lucky." I look down at Bella, and she nods her head to me. "Okay. I'm just going to do this. It's like a band-aid, right? Just get it over with?"

"Whenever you're ready, Edward. I have all day. Just take your time," Riley says patiently.

I let go of Bella's hand and move to the painting for the auction. I grab the bottom of the now blackened cover, my heart hammering against my chest. I shut my eyes and whip the cover off, moving quickly to the rest of the canvasses and dropping each of the sheets to the floor before I change my mind. I turn back slowly to him and wait.

He's quiet for a very long time, slowly approaching the canvasses with the damage first, his eyes narrowing while he inspects them closely. My hands rake continuously through my hair, my entire body humming with anticipation. It's like I'm baring my soul here… say something! For fuck's sake. Is it that bad?

Bella joins me, wrapping her little arm around my waist. I lean into her and try to hold it together.

"These are remarkable, Edward," Riley says, finally, turning his head to me. "Truly remarkable."

"Really?"

"Surely you must realize that. I'm not the only person telling you how gifted you are."

I manage a smile and feel relief course through my veins. "No. It's just, nice to hear from someone like you."

"They're so vivid, so full of emotion. This is quite a story you're telling."

I furrow my brow at his description. "A story?"

"This is about your life, isn't it?" he asks knowingly, his eyes moving from one canvas to the next slowly.

"My feelings, mostly," I admit. It's always amazing to hear what people think my work is about. It's not very often that they're right.

"And what is life if not filled by feelings?" he asks. He makes his way to the canvasses with the most damage and stops in front of them. "You're worried about these most?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"The museum has people who work on these types of repairs. It's mostly surface smoke damage. There's no blistering or real burns." He looks up the length of the painting and smiles. "I think we can save them," he says firmly, turning back to me.

My heart stops beating. "Seriously?"

"If you really want to, yes. But, there is another option that I want you to consider."

"Another option?" My head spins. I don't know fuck all about negotiating with museum curators. Jane did all that shit. I feel like I'm going to pass out.

"I want these hanging in my museum," he says firmly. "And we can go about that one of two ways. The first, we show them as is."

"It's not the way they were supposed to be seen," I argue.

"This collection, it's about your life. And this—" he runs his fingers along the bottom of the charred frame "—is part of it. I think showing your work, as it stands right now, would be a massive statement for you. How you lived through something like this, and still are brave enough to want people to see it," he explains passionately.

I'm not sure how well that sits with me. "And option two?"

"I can have the restoration staff work on these and remove the signs of damage. It would be like it never existed, like it never really happened. But that means people are going to have to touch your paintings and work on them. How do you feel about that?"

"I don't like that idea," I answer immediately.

"Even if it means they can be restored to what you intended?"

I drop Bella's hand and move next to Riley. "They're never going to feel like what I intended. Even if they can fix this," I admit.

"If all this work is about your life and expressing your emotion, I think it would be a mistake to get rid of this. This is part of who you are, now," he says, staring at me. "And I think a more important part of all of this is also how you choose to deal with it. You don't have to decide right now. Think it over. Either way, I want these hanging in the museum."

My heart pounds at the possibility, at the potential for one of my dreams being realized. "At the end of the day, Edward, this is _your _work and only you can decide how you want it to be seen and remembered."

While I stand in the studio and think about my options, my life, about how much has changed in such a sort period of time, I realize how lucky I really am, and how close I came to losing all of this.

As I stare at the nineteen canvasses in front of me, and my eyes fall on Bella standing in the far corner of the room, I wonder what Mom would think about all of this. I wish she was here to see them, but more than anything, I wish she could have met the woman I plan on marrying.

Chapter End Notes:

**As always, let me know what you're thinking.**

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Twitter: CarLemon

Check out the following wonderful authors and their stories:

Oceans of Doubt – Belindella

Guarding Bella Swan – coachlady1


	33. Chapter 33

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. November 2010.

A millions thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx. There are not enough words to express how much you mean to me, and how much you've helped me to shape this story. It's hard to believe that it's been almost a year. I've learned so much from you about writing, but I treasure your friendship most. It means everything to me.

Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thank you so much for taking this journey with me.

A world of thanks to the readers who lurk and those who review. I am truly grateful for sharing your thoughts with me.

To MizzezPattinson an amazing friend and supporter – I wouldn't be able to do this without you. I love you hun. (WAP.)

If you haven't figured it out by the words above, this will be the last chapter of Nineteen Canvasses.

See you at the bottom for a long ass author's note.

Let's see how things look for Bella.

BPOV

Chapter 33

"Sold to number 328 for one million, six hundred thousand dollars!" the auctioneer shouts with a flourish, slamming his mallet on the auction stand. The packed room at the Vancouver Convention Centre's waterfront ballroom erupts in applause; most of the overly dressed guests rising out of their chairs, unable to contain their excitement as the twenty minute heated bidding war for Edward's painting finally comes to a dramatic end.

I am in shock. My eyes feel like they are going to pop out of my head while my heart races at what has just happened. Rose is jumping up and down and squealing-a sight I've never seen before and hope to never see again. Edward just sits calmly, rubbing the back of his neck and casually sipping his white wine, which he told me earlier isn't a very good year, like this is not a big deal.

He tilts his head and smirks, raising his glass to the woman in a skin tight red dress, who is now fanning herself with auction paddle 328 as a crowd starts to gather around her. She clearly is someone who enjoys the attention, and I wonder briefly if they know each other. I try to push that unwelcome thought away as she stares back at Edward and nods her head, offering him a seductive eye quirk before she is ushered to the payment table to complete the transaction. _Yeah… they definitely know each other._

"Oh my God!" Rose screams, untangling herself from Emmett's bear hug and hurling her body at Edward, almost knocking him out of his chair in the process. "Do you have any idea what this will do for the Foundation? How many programs we can fund?" She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him, releasing him quickly and bouncing with Alice beside the table as the room continues to buzz with excitement.

Our table is surrounded quickly by crowds of people, each wanting a piece of Edward's time, gushing over him while Jasper snaps off picture after picture. It's all a little surreal, and I take advantage of the throngs who are practically clawing their way to get him to slip away from the table.

Lauren and James catch my eye as they make their way to the exit at the back of the room. I wasn't sure how Edward would react when I told him that Lauren fully intended on bringing him as her date, but once he found out that James was giving us a cash donation, he seemed to tolerate the idea. Alice and I made sure to put them at a table as far away as possible from ours.

James wraps his arm around Lauren's waist and smiles at me, while she practically falls all over him in a desperate attempt to make sure everyone sees them leaving together. I wonder briefly how long their relationship will last. Something tells me, not long.

I scan and find Renee's table easily; she is laughing louder than anyone else in the room. Carlisle and Esme look to be in shock as they stare at Edward's painting. Jake and Leah are also at the table, and he issues me his patented smirk when he sees me approaching.

I rest my hand on the back of Renee's chair as Carlisle smiles widely at me. "That was incredible," he gushes. "I'm just…"

"Stunned?" Mom asks, reaching back to cover my hand with hers.

"I think I am. I mean, its not every day you see something like that," he says, clearly overwhelmed by emotion.

I look back over my shoulder at the crowded table, seeing Edward's mass of disheveled hair. "He's amazing. This is going to change the Foundation and really make a difference."

Edward strains his neck above the crowd, searching the room until he finds me. He grins at me in amusement and continues to answer whatever question is currently being thrown at him, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel myself blush and look away, back to the table, where they are all staring at me. "How long has it been since you and Edward have had sex, dear?" Mom asks brazenly.

"Mom! Oh my God!" I'm beyond mortified. Thankfully, Carlisle and Esme burst out laughing at my insane mother and her inability to keep her mouth shut, while Phil just shakes his head and takes a long sip of beer.

"Mr. Fantastic having issues, Bells?" Jake asks smugly, earning him a hard smack in the chest from Leah.

"Not you, too, Jake?" I groan.

"What? Dear, it's a legitimate question. I can just feel the tension rolling off you. He's not having… trouble in that area, is he?" Renee asks, looking all concerned and completely oblivious.

"No! Of course not. Mom!"

"Because, I think I may have some gingko in my purse. It helps with blood flow to the—"

"Okay, okay, Mom!" I put my hand over hers, stopping her before she dives into her purse. "Good Lord you're unbelievable! Edward does not have any issues in that department." I flush brighter than the red dress the vixen that purchased Edward's painting is wearing. "I'm going to check on the dessert buffet," I mutter, utterly horrified.

I turn quickly and hurry to the expansive windows at the back of the room that houses the tables for the vast array of desserts that Alice has picked out. "End the night with chocolate, and they'll never be disappointed," I think is what she said. I didn't dare question her. I've learned over the years that it's not worth it, and besides, Alice knows what she's doing in this particular area.

As I lean against the dessert table, complete with a dark chocolate fondue fountain, I try to compose myself from the sheer embarrassment that only Renee can cause. Jake joins me a few minutes later, eagerly filling up a plate with as many desserts as he can.

"Congratulations, Bella. You guys did an amazing job," he says, shoving a chocolate cream puff into his mouth.

"Thanks, Jake. I hope you and Leah enjoy the little spa getaway you won. You didn't have to bid on anything, though. I'm just happy that you're here."

"As if I'd miss this. A pack of wolves wouldn't keep me away. Oh, and trust me, we'll enjoy the spa," he says, waggling his eyebrows at me.

I hit him in the chest. "You're such a guy."

"I'll have you know, I plan on proposing to Leah on this little spa getaway," he says, his expression turning serious. "You don't think that's corny, do you?"

"I think that's perfect. She'll love it."

He breathes a sigh of relief and leans against the table, his eyes following mine to where Edward is standing. "How's the roommate situation? You and the painting genius alright?" he asks, taking a bite of a mini strawberry cheesecake.

I smile up at him. "Yeah, we're good."

"I'm glad. You deserve to be happy, Bella."

"I am happy."

He nods and replaces the desserts he devoured with fresh ones. "Same time on Monday morning for the run?" he asks.

"I'll be there. Try and keep up this time."

"Whatever," he says, smirking and making his way back to the table. I watch as he kisses the top of Leah's head and sets the plate of desserts down in front of her. She smiles up at him adoringly before diving in to sample what's on the plate.

While Alice and Rose continue to try to handle the lingering crowd that has gravitated to Edward, I look around the packed room and take a moment to enjoy what we've accomplished tonight.

The ballroom has been transformed into a virtual forest, with Alice's dark green colour scheme. White mini lights that Emmett practically killed himself trying to hang, dangle from the ceiling that's been covered with a canopy of leaves. Flickering tea lights on each of the sold out tables cast a welcoming glow on the smiling faces of the guests seated around them.

Every long night, every argument, every single time we thought we were going to kill each other has led to this; a night where the Foundation has made close to two million dollars in support of the Boreal forest campaign. It's staggering when I think about how drastically different this fundraiser is from last year's. How drastically different _I _am from this time last year.

I search for Edward through the thinning crowd at our table and find him, standing with the woman in the red dress. Jasper is taking more pictures as she wraps her arm around Edward's waist and leans into him.

A feel a momentary rush of panicked jealousy while I watch her run her hand down the back of his grey suit jacket, inching painfully close to his ass. His entire body stiffens and he moves away discreetly, turning his attention to Alice, who is probably getting a statement from him for the follow-up piece she's doing for the magazine.

As I watch him nod his head and patiently answer question after question from Alice, I can't help but notice how tired he looks. These past few weeks have been extremely trying and have taken a toll on both of us.

He has painted like a man possessed, dropping into bed at two or three in the morning, too tired to do anything but drape his arm over my waist and crash. Rose, Alice, and I have tirelessly put the last minute details in place for the auction, working late, and grabbing take-out, which Edward would heat up, if he remembered to eat at all. Our conversations have been limited and focused solely on either his paintings or the auction.

Even through the insanity of it all, he has refused to give up his involvement in my nightly routine. It grows increasingly longer, Edward spending more time each night, cleansing and massaging my thigh, his touches reverent as we sink into a hot bath. It's our little sanctuary from the rest of the world. The one place where words aren't even needed, where it's just Edward and me.

On some level, Mom is right. We've both been too exhausted to even think about having sex… well, okay, so I think about it… a lot. How could I not with Mr. Sex on Legs to stare at on a daily basis. He gets so wrapped up in painting that I could spend literally hours staring at him and he wouldn't even notice.

I've memorized every single laugh line, every quirk, every unique movement that makes him the man I've fallen so desperately in love with. I've whispered the three words to him every night after he's passed out in bed, his hair and hands covered in paint, completely and utterly exhausted.

Those are the moments that have changed my life for the better; little snippets in time that may seem insignificant to most, but to me, mean everything. His fingers as they massage my thigh, his breath on my face while he sleeps beside me, the quirky smile and blaring classical music that greets me as he turns his head from whatever canvas he's working on when I come home at night. I simply cannot imagine my life without him.

I pick up a welcome glass of wine off the tray from one of the wandering waiters and move to Edward's painting, tilting my head to the side as I admire it. Every time I look at it, I see something different. Maybe it's because I've watched him turn it from a blank canvas, to this deeply intense and emotionally driven swirl of colour that defines who Edward really is.

Even though I thought the original painting he completed for the auction was fine, he wanted to paint something new. I didn't question him. I've learned not to when it comes to his intense need to paint. As I look at it now, I see a mix of complex emotions, ever changing, always wanting more, driven by hope.

That seems to be what most of Edward's paintings are about – hope. At least, that's what I feel when I look at them. I take a sip of wine and wonder if I'll ever see this particular painting again. I wonder where she'll hang it, and if she has any idea the emotion that went into creating it.

"You look good enough to eat tonight." His voice is deliciously thick with want as his lips brush against my ear. "You know, I've never seen you in a dress before."

The goose bumps erupt immediately over my body. "Mmmm. Don't get used to it." I slide my eyes shut and lean against his chest as he not so discretely wraps an arm around my waist and kisses my neck. "Done holding court?" I ask.

He laughs loudly and turns me to him, gripping my chin between his thumb and his index finger. "It's time for us to go," he says darkly, his green eyes dancing with excitement and desire as he glides his finger over my bottom lip.

My entire body heats under his intensity. "Really?" I ask, raising an eyebrow to him.

He nods slowly. "There's something I have to show you," he says mysteriously.

I pull back slightly from him and casually take a sip of wine. "But, I'm not done here."

"Yes. You are. I've already talked to Rose and Alice. You're mine," he whispers, running his nose along my neck. "For the rest of the night." He makes sure to accentuate each of the words, sending a full body shiver through me at the promise behind them.

_Holy Fuck._ He's all in control and completely focused on me, as if there is no one else in the room. My mouth goes dry. He keeps his eyes locked to mine and takes the wine glass from my shaking hands, drinking the remnants of it down. "This wine really isn't very good," he remarks, his tongue darting between his lips.

He holds his free hand out to me, and I take it eagerly. He strides with purpose, pulling me towards the exit. He sets the empty wine glass on the dessert table and takes one last look at the room.

I follow his gaze to Renee's table, where Carlisle is turned in his seat and staring at us. Edward smiles and nods his head ever so slightly, tugging gently on my arm as he takes off to the doors. I manage to get in a wave to Renee and Phil before he pushes the door open and we greet the cool night air.

XXXXXX

Edward is practically bouncing beside me, his fingers twisting nervously with mine as we rise in a mirrored elevator to the twentieth floor – a task which required him to swipe a key card into a slot on the panel beside the regular buttons. Despite my multiple attempts to get him to tell me what he's up to, his lips remain tightly sealed, although at this point, I'm fairly certain I know.

The elevator dings and opens, a playful smile taking over his face while he holds the door and motions for me to walk through. The sound of my heels hitting a pale coloured hardwood floor echoes to us as the elevator closes behind him.

I turn my head to the bank of floor to ceiling windows on the opposite side of the room that face the mountains and the harbour, my breath hitching at the sight. I cross to the windows, my dress making a swooshing noise that sounds extremely loud in the empty room.

I lean against one of the windows, watching as the lights of downtown Vancouver flicker below me. It's absolutely stunning… a multi-million dollar view.

I turn back to see him standing on the bottom step of a wide staircase, looking extremely anxious and holding his hand out to me. I walk to him and he grips my hand, wordlessly climbing the stairs.

He stops and stands to the side as I'm greeted to another massive and empty room with vaulted ceilings, more hardwood floors and windows that cover one entire side. Its awe inspiring, and I know immediately that this is Edward's new studio.

"What do you think?" he asks finally, taking a few tentative steps to me.

"It's incredible. I don't even have the words. It's just…"

"Ours." A smile plays on his lips as he waits for my reaction.

My heart stops beating. "Ours?" I ask, blinking up at him.

He takes both of my hands in his and stares at me. "I can't live at my old place, and I can't keep painting in your living room. This is close to your work- you can still walk there, if you want. There are jogging paths right outside the door, and downtown is right there if we want to go out," he says quickly, as if he's rhyming off some rehearsed list that he's made or something.

He turns me so we are both looking out the windows, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist from behind. "Imagine waking up to this every morning." He rests his head on my shoulder and kisses my neck.

I turn and cup his face. "I imagine waking up to _you_ every morning, already. It doesn't matter where it is."

He smirks and pulls on my arm again, taking me reluctantly out of the room and down a wide hallway. He flicks on a light and walks backwards into the room, coaxing me with him.

"Hmmm. Interesting that a bed is the only piece of furniture in the place," I note, my shoes sinking into plush carpet as I pass a massive king-sized bed that faces a set of panoramic windows.

"There are some lights and tables, too," he says, laughing. "There's also this." He flicks on a light and a soft glow illuminates a massive white deep oval tub that sits in the middle of the bathroom, if that's what you want to call it. The room and the tub are more like a work of art. I run my fingers along the cool marble of the tub, my eyes falling to the familiar amber bottles that Renee uses to store whatever healing oils she wants me to try. I raise an eyebrow to him.

"Renee thought that you would need them, and to be honest, there are way too many fucking bubble bath choices. I thought my head was going to explode in all those stores, so I asked her."

I laugh and notice the intricate drying rack that he had one of his artist friends make, leaning against the picture window in front of the tub. I gently run my fingers over the groves and finally raise my eyes to his, feeling the emotion start to overtake me. "You brought this with you?" I ask, my voice shaky.

He nods his head. "What do you think?" he asks quietly, biting down on his lip. How can he possibly be nervous about this? Does he really have no idea how I feel about him?

"I think you're amazing," I answer firmly.

"I meant about this… moving here… you and me. A fresh start. I think we deserve that, don't you?"

I move slowly to him and wrap my hand around his tie, pulling on it and coaxing him forward until his lips hover over mine. "Maybe we should try it out. You know… see how it feels in the morning, and then, we can decide," I say brazenly.

He lifts his eyebrows to me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Oh, I don't have any clothes or my stuff for my—"

He places his fingers over my lips, silencing me. "I have all the soaps and lotions, and Rose and Alice packed you some clothes. There's a bag in the closet."

I pull harder on his tie and his eyes widen at me. "Pretty damn sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"I was hoping," he mutters, his hands sinking into my hair as his lips press to mine, a contented moan escaping from him. He deepens the kiss, his tongue moving frantically almost, desperate for contact, my hands automatically flying into his hair.

He slides one hand down my back and around my waist, lifting me straight up and back to the colossal bed. He lowers me gently onto it, the massive duvet practically swallowing me as the pillows shift behind us.

I giggle against his lips as my hand falls to a faux fur blanket beside me. He pulls back, gazing at me in amusement. "Where did you get this?" I ask, holding the white synthetic blanket up to him.

He rolls his eyes. "Alice. She got all these pillows, too. Do you really like this many?" he asks, reaching above me and whipping one off the bed to the floor.

"Not really."

He laughs and runs his hand down the front of my dress, his expression shifting instantly. "You're beautiful. This dress is…" He struggles for the words as his mouth trails down the column of my neck.

"Coming off, I hope?" I breathe.

He hovers over me, propping himself up on his elbows. "Most definitely," he says seductively, his hands trailing down the front of the dress. "Silk… it feels good on you."

"Better off," I say, already writhing under him.

He chuckles and moves off the bed, standing at the side and slowly removes his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. He tucks his fingers into the knot of his grey tie and he starts to loosen it, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Stop," I whisper. I stand up and gently remove his fingers, slowly undoing the tie and then pulling it off his neck. I wrap it around my neck and then start on the buttons on his black shirt, sliding them slowly through the holes while his breathing deepens.

"You're undressing me," he says, his fingers trailing down my arm.

"You catch on fast."

His hand slides around my waist and up my back, his fingers finding the zipper at the top of my dress. He quirks an eyebrow and lowers the zipper slowly, stopping at the small of my back. He flattens his warm hand over my skin and slips it to my ass, cupping it and groaning while his eyes slide shut.

I press towards him and finish with the final button on his shirt, slowly parting the fabric and sliding it down his arms. I reach up and kiss him, his lips so soft and hungry, his chest heaving against mine.

He removes his hand from my behind and shakes the shirt off, quickly moving to the thick straps on my dress and lowering them, his mouth immediately finding my shoulder. "Bella…"

I remove the straps from my arms, the dress dropping in a pool at my feet. I step forward, out of the dress, and leave the shoes on. He swallows, his eyes drinking me in as I stand before him, nervously twirling his grey tie around my fingers.

His mouth drops open slightly, his shaky hand brushing my hair behind my shoulder. "I don't deserve you," he whispers, lowering his head and shutting his eyes.

My heart clenches, and I wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my chest against him. "Edward, open your eyes," I whisper. He complies and stares down at me, his expression so desperate and needy. I cup his face between my hands. "I love you, and I never want to hear you say that again. You deserve the world… you're everything to me... How can you not know that?"

"What did you just say?" he asks in disbelief, his voice raspy.

"I said a lot of things." His eyes search mine, wanting and hopeful. I smile up at him and as the lights from the Vancouver skyline flicker behind him, I repeat the words I've said nearly every night since he's stayed at my house. "I love you."

He shuts his eyes and launches his lips to mine, his arms wrapping around my waist. It's passionate, wild, intense… I can barely breathe. He groans and picks me up, vaulting to the bed where I land on my back.

"I love you," he murmurs into my ear, his entire body shaking. "I love you so fucking much." His lips move to mine urgently, his breath coming out in pants as he desperately pours his soul out. "I need you so much. You have no idea."

His fingers shake as they hover over the strap on my bra, his lips moving frantically to my shoulder. "Edward... I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, I'm yours," I whisper.

He moans against the fabric of my bra, slowing his movements, his touch less desperate, but still intense. He pulls back and stares down at me… pure, raw emotion. "I've missed this," he says softly.

I slide my hands up his back, feeling the hard defined lines in his shoulders, flattening my palms across his firm chest and down his strong arms, reveling in the fact that my simple touch causes him to moan and shut his eyes, like he's trying to soak in how it feels.

He slowly moves down in the bed and traces the fabric around my breasts, his fingers tickling my skin. I feel the heat rise, desire racing and turning while he gently coaxes me up and releases the clasp on the bra. He moves his fingers to the front, taking the middle of the bra between his thumb and index finger and gingerly pulls it off me.

I ease back down onto the bed, my chest heaving under him as he takes one side of his tie that's still around my neck and grazes it around my breast and over my nipple. "I want you, Bella. Everyday… just like this… in this bed… with me."

I moan at his words, arching my back to meet his lips as they slowly take one nipple in, his skillful fingers working the other. His mouth slides to the other nipple while his hand moves down to my stomach. He traces the top of my panties and then slowly sinks two of his fingers into me, starting an almost unbearable pattern, bringing me closer and closer with each delicious pass.

His lips trail to my stomach, the muscles tightening while he grinds his erection against me. "Feel what you do to me, baby."

"Edward, please," I whine, trying to arch my hips faster, desperate to feel him.

He slides his fingers out and hooks them around my panties, slowly inching them down. Once they've hit the floor, he moves beside me, kissing my thigh above my prosthetic. He quickly rids himself of his pants and his boxers and crawls back onto the bed, gently coaxing my legs apart.

He kisses and licks my thigh, moving down to the prosthetic, his fingers reverently tracing it before lifting my other leg up and over his shoulder. I gasp at the movement, fisting the sheets as he lowers his head and flattens his tongue over me. He works me into a virtual frenzy, his fingers teasing, his tongue pushing me further.

"Edwa…" I can't even say his name as my body ignites under him, my hands flying into his hair. I pull hard, causing him to moan louder.

He lifts his head to me and moves slowly up my body, his fingers leading the way until he's hovering over me. He kisses me deeply, his fingers tracing my thigh. "Standing?" he asks so quietly, I barely hear him.

"No," I breathe, shifting under him in anticipation. I want to feel normal, the way he always makes me feel.

"Bella, tell me if—"

I arch my hips towards him. "Make love to me, Edward. Like there's nothing holding you back… like I know you want to."

He drops his head to my shoulder and groans, shifting away from my prosthetic before easing into me. He stills, waiting for me to protest or something, I don't know, that's not even in the realm of possibility when he makes me feel this way… just alive and electric.

I move my hands to his ass and squeeze, causing him to take a sharp breath in. He pulls nearly all the way out and thrusts back in, my leg hitching around his waist. "Fuck, Bella," he grinds out, his pace quickening as he starts to lose himself. "You feel so amazing." His eyes clench shut, the veins in his neck straining as he thrusts harder and deeper.

I shift my prosthetic leg to the side, opening myself further. "I love you," he murmurs.

I arch to meet him, his hips flexing hard against me over and over… he's so deep, I'm filled completely. I want to hold onto this feeling and never let it go. The muscles in my thigh complain as we move together, his movements forceful. He moves his hand down my real leg and he bends it, so my knee almost touches my breast.

Opening his eyes, I can see the intensity, the emotion, the love and I feel the tears spill over. My breathing hitches, my entire body ignites, every muscle soaring and convulsing around him as I cry out from pure pleasure. He thrusts, and I feel him pulsate, his climax consuming him as he collapses on top of me.

He kisses my neck, brushing the hair from my face. "Are you okay?" he pants.

I run my hands up his strong back, my body tingling. "Yeah. I'd say so."

He shifts slightly so he's supporting his weight on his arms while he hovers over me, still twitching inside me. He runs his hand down my thigh, stopping at my prosthetic and lifting his eyebrows. "It's okay. I just need to get the right angle for it," I say.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, starting to ease out of me.

I push on his back and arch towards him. "Just means more practice," I mutter.

"Oh, really?" he asks, smirking down at me.

I laugh and he narrows his eyes at me. "I hope you're not laughing at me," he says darkly.

"No, just at something Mom said tonight."

He slides his hand up to the tie that's still hanging around my neck and circles it around my breast. "And what was that?"

"She was worried that you had… you know, problems in this department."

He snickers and lowers his lips to mine. "Oh, I can assure you. I don't have any problems in this department."

"I can feel that," I say, my eyes closing as he starts to move again.

"We better just make sure, right?" he mumbles.

"Right."

XXXXXX

We sit, facing each other on either side of the massive tub, the soothing scent of lavender filling the room. He picks up my foot and starts to massage deep circles on the instep. I shut my eyes and just enjoy it until an errant thought occurs to me.

"You know the woman who bought your painting, don't you?" I ask, staring back at him.

I feel his legs stiffen beside me. "Jessica Stanley. She bought the first painting I ever sold."

"Hmm."

"Hmmm?" he asks, raising an eyebrow and moving his focused massage to my calf.

"Did you… I mean… forget it," I mumble, turning my head from him and looking out into the night sky.

"Do I sense a tone of jealousy?" he asks smugly.

"No!" I protest, splashing water at his chest.

He laughs and trails his skilled fingers up my leg. "No. I never slept with her. I was kind of surprised to see her tonight, actually. She and Jane were… close."

There's a name I didn't want to hear tonight, and now I'm sorry I asked him. "Well, she certainly went a long way to helping the Foundation. That was incredible tonight," I say sincerely.

"Yeah, I'd say tonight goes down in the books as one of top ten nights of my life."

"I'm so proud of you, your work… it's amazing, Edward."

"It's not because of the auction that tonight makes the top ten, Bella," he says, his voice dropping lower. "It's because of you."

I smile back at him and feel the heat rise in my face while he continues his delicious massage on my leg. A hazing fog starts to envelope me as the steam rises in the room. Every muscle in my body is sore and I've never felt more content or alive; two things I had convinced myself I'd never feel again.

He stops massaging and squeezes a continual stream of water from a thick washcloth onto my leg while the exhaustion of the last few weeks starts to take over. I feel like I could sleep for days and still be tired.

The therapy sessions I've had with Dr. Young have gone a long way in helping me to deal with what happened. Edward has only attended two of them with me, saying that painting is his ultimate release. I didn't fight him on it. Seeing him create with the passion and raw unbridled emotion that he has, I know he's right. Painting is cathartic for him, healing him in ways that I'm sure I'll never understand.

That doesn't mean he's over it. I know he has nightmares, even though he would never admit it. I wake up sometimes to him thrashing and crying out for me, the covers a jumbled mess on the floor. I simply curl into his side and hold him, his entire body relaxing into mine almost instantly as I run my fingers through his hair to calm him.

I've noticed my own changes; my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly if a car follows mine too closely at night… the return of the panic attack if I wake up alone in bed in the morning because Edward is already up and painting.

I know it's irrational and that Jane can't hurt us anymore. She's pled guilty and is facing intense psychiatric counseling and a long time locked away from the rest of the world. That doesn't mean I'm over it. I'm not sure either one of us will ever be completely over it.

"I've made a decision about the collection," he says, his voice stirring me from the edge of consciousness.

"You have?" I ask, lifting my head from the back of the tub and smiling at him.

He nods his head at me. "I'm going to show it like it is. I've thought a lot about what Riley said, and he's right. If I let someone else work on it and take away the smoke damage, what does that say about me? That I'm embarrassed? That I want to pretend like it didn't happen?" He furrows his brow. "I can't do that. Its part of my life, and yours, and I think showing it like it is will be liberating in a way. I want to hang them in the gallery and walk away, knowing that I'm ready to move on to a new phase of my life… of our life."

I nod my head at him, the emotion threatening to break through. "I think you're a very smart man," I manage to say.

"If I was smart, I would have seen what she was capable of," he argues.

"There's no way you could have seen it." He scowls at me and shakes his head. "You know, when she was standing in the bedroom… I thought that was my worst nightmare. Me being completely vulnerable."

"Bella, you don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to, but I need to. You can get your emotion out when you paint… you have an outlet. I can't do that." He smiles and squeezes my leg softly. "When I heard your voice in the studio just before I blacked out, that was worse than anything I could have ever imagined. To think that something horrible was going to happen to you, that you would risk your life to come back for me… that I might never see you again. That's my worst nightmare. Losing you."

He scoots towards me, the water sloshing as he wraps his arm around my waist and buries his face into my hair. "That's never going to happen," he whispers.

XXXXXX

Later, I lay on my side, watching him sleep, a soft light from the moon, dancing over his body as his chest rises and falls. He has one arm resting over his head, the other draped across my back. I smile and lightly trace my index finger over the relaxed contours of his face, marveling at just how deep my feelings are for him. How he's changed my entire life.

Sometimes, life hands you a challenge that you're sure you'll never be able to meet. There are days when you feel like giving up, staying in bed and feeling sorry for yourself. There are days when you do just that. And then there are days like today that change you. When you realize that you've found the person who sees beyond the exterior and touches your soul.

I had started to think my life would just be a series of random happenings that meant nothing. Edward has taught me that even the moments of nothing can mean everything.

Edward would probably tell you that I saved him from a life that was spiraling out of control. I would tell you that he saved me from an empty and emotionless one.

I guess, the truth is, we saved each other.

Chapter End Notes:

Pics of the beautiful Vancouver Convention Centre and the apartment are here:

www(dot)photobucket (dot)/albums/xx267/CarLemon/Nineteen%20Canvasses%20CH%2033/

Thank you for coming along on this journey with me.

This story has been an extremely cathartic experience. I've laughed and cried, and at one point almost pitched my laptop out the eighth floor window of my office building… yeah, sometimes I write at work- that's the way I roll.

I have received reviews that have made me cry happy tears, and some sad ones, too. I cherish each one of the reviews I've received. Whether you reviewed or not, if it produced a reaction, positive or negative, I suppose the story did what I wanted it to.

I wrote this story for every person who has ever felt like they weren't good enough, ever faced adversity or discrimination, ever felt like giving up or was told they couldn't do it, ever thought they were alone and would never find anyone. For people who, for whatever reason, have built up a wall around themselves for fear of letting anyone in, and for those people who take the time to look beyond the exterior and find the unique soul hidden underneath.

Through it all, I have had been blessed to meet several wonderfully talented authors, writers, readers, reviewers, and supporters that I am blessed to call my friends: xrxdanixrx, MizzezPattinson, coachlady1, robbsweetangel, itsange_, Lattecoug, FangMom, Mrs_Boyscout, cullenscougar, hc4metal who was my first review, readergoof, craving2read, nightline, emozing, HockeyChick, Robsblueeyes, robskitten, nns813, Boydblog, Belindella, azucena34, kazbar65, Nyomixx, the Twitterloves, the list goes on.

I'm not dropping off the face of the earth. I still have two stories that I write, Finding Forever (a RPF) and Of Mustangs & Men with my dear MizzezPattinson, both found on Twilighted. I also have another fic which is brewing and will be on its way soon. As Dani will tell you, I like to stay several chapters ahead, and so it may be a couple of weeks before that fic posts.

Thank you again for reading and reviewing. It means the world to me.

As always, let me know your thoughts.

Twitter: CarLemon

XO

Leslie


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